


about the things that we could be

by childrenbehave



Series: Baby, There's No Other Superstar [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Secret Niall Horan, Secret Zayn Malik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 97,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childrenbehave/pseuds/childrenbehave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘The worst thing that's ever happened to Louis is having a legitimate work-based reason to rank Liam Payne's t-shirts by tightness around the bicep. While he wears them.’ </p>
<p>[A not-so-accidental romantic comedy about a movie star and his PA told in six rather long parts. And an epilogue.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so here's the prequel to [this is how it feels to take off](http://archiveofourown.org/works/756428) , which got SO much longer than we intended, and then this happened. Which got even longer than we intended. We literally don’t know how this happened or how it got so long, but you don’t need to read this one to understand the other one or vice versa. Each is a stand alone, mostly.
> 
> Also, this fic holds what we like to call Our Greatest Mistake. As it stands it’s almost entirely about Louis, Liam and Harry, mainly the Liam and Louis relationship. Fact is we introduced Niall and Zayn properly in the _this is how it feels to take off_ , so much as it _hurt us,_ especially as the length grew and we were realising: these are a lot of words without Zayn and Niall, they’re not in this fic as major characters.* And we love Zayn and Niall a lot, so yes. Our greatest mistake. We hope to remedy it. Forgive us, if you can.
> 
> (*That is not to say that we never see them. It might be a guessing game sometimes. Enjoy yourselves if you decide to play.)

_**1\. if you ever find yourself (stuck in the middle of the sea)** _

_(Harry is sixteen.)_

Louis Tomlinson considers his second career at the age of twenty-two. He’s standing in front of a desk in a corner office much like the one that he thought he wanted and he’s got his fingers wrapped around his company Blackberry inside his pocket. It’s his third company phone in six months. 

There’s an email in his drafts with his resignation in it. Louis could quit out loud and be done with it, but there’s something _not cricket_ about that, something that is just as petulant as some of the agency clients, and he’s not too long gone from Doncaster to give into that urge just yet. He’s told enough shits of clients that _well, if they don’t like it, they can just leave the set_ at this point.

His mum’s always been supportive, but does get at him to come home, go to university like half his mates did when Louis doesn’t sound happy enough for her liking. It’s not like he can’t afford any uni he wants now. But the thought of trying to blend in with freshers, either holding red cups in the U.S. or pint glasses in the U.K., makes him feel old. 

Simon Cowell, head of Syco Associates, waves an expressive hand at the chair in front of the desk and Louis falls into it with an ‘oof.’ Simon doesn’t look unkind, but he never does, even when he’s at his most callous. He looks opaque as ever. 

There’s a black mug with black coffee in it on the desk. Simon refills his own silently and keeps his eyes on the dark horizon of liquid but Louis’s not fooled: he knows he’s being watched. 

‘You’re good at this, you know.’

That _isn’t_ what Louis was waiting to hear. 

If he’s honest, Louis was waiting for Simon to save him the trouble of emailing across his resignation and fire him. He feels his head jerk up and tries to clear his eyes of the dust and sleep there, but stabs his glasses instead. Bloody nuisance, the things are, but fuck if Louis was putting his contacts in at 3am when he got the phone call. Does he have contacts left? Fuck if he knows. 

‘But?’ Louis raises an eyebrow to match Simon.

‘You’re good at this,’ Simon repeats with a small, endlessly eloquent shrug that could mean just about anything and leans on one elbow as the morning sun comes in through the slats of the blind. He taps on the table idly. It’s just Louis’s career in the film industry and the fragile little life he’s built up in the States at stake. 

Louis bites back the urge to ask him to get on with it. 

He resists more out of tiredness: he was awake and working when the call came in, he’s _been_ awake and working for going on twenty hours. 

At least his client isn’t his problem anymore. Maybe he’ll actually get some sleep after this meeting. 

‘You’re not being fired, Louis,’ Simon says, characteristically blunt, but also nice to hear. Louis had been expecting at least another twenty seconds of unbearable tension. He sinks into the chair and tries not to let his head fall back. There’s a smile playing at the edges of Simon’s mouth as he toys with a lethal-looking metallic pen. ‘Though I’d really rather you didn’t haul celebrities to rehab straight from a club’s backroom; it gives our comms and the stylist very little time to prepare.’ 

Some of the tension comes back into Louis’s fists. He rolls the sleeves of his maroon jumper - the one he dragged out of the locker he barely uses in the desk drawer he’s barely near - down until they’re brushing his knuckles. It’s a show of weakness he should rein in, but Simon’s put black coffee and a tabloid in front of him, so that horse bolted before Louis changed shirts. There’s a lot he could say, but he knows what the sound effect of a bullet whizzing by his ear sounds like when he hears it. ‘Noted.’

‘Though I think you’d benefit from a change of pace, don’t you?’ 

Simon throws him a folder. It’s thin and bottle green, which means it’s the original file, not a copy. He looks up and takes a long drink of his coffee. ‘No team?’

‘Remote support but not a full team on this one, not yet anyway,’ Simon nods towards the file in Louis’s hands. An agency polaroid falls out of its clip when Louis opens it. Louis picks it up a casts an eye over it. He gathers: young, pretty. Big curls, big smile, big eyes. From what he’s seen, that’s how they all start. ‘His first shoot is in one month. You’ll be on the set.’ Simon has the grace to look amused and slightly bewildered. ‘I promised his mother and sister someone would be.’ Basically he’s on babysitting duty. How fun.

Louis nearly spits out his coffee and feels the vice around his ribcage loosen slightly when he barks out a laugh. 

‘Is that his real name?’

*

Harry Styles is his actual name and Louis doesn’t resign. Or get fired.

For three weeks he tells himself he’s going to get Harry set up with good people, then send the email, but in the end he doesn’t.

That’s because Harry Styles trips down a set of stairs from a transatlantic private plane and blinks up at Louis with bright green eyes the colour of his Syco folder. It’s like when one of Louis’s sisters fell when he was babysitting: they were going to laugh or cry but only after Louis did it first. So Louis offers the sixteen-year-old from further North than Doncaster his forearm up off the tarmac, smacks the back of his head gently and says, ‘Curly, is your stunt double this much trouble?’ 

‘Oops,’ Harry replies slowly and shakes his head, then grins. ‘Bet he’s worse.’ Harry picks up the brick of a book that tripped him, pulls himself upright on Louis’s arm, yawns like a cat (Louis can hear his back cracking as he does) and slides so Louis’s arm finds his shoulder blade. 

Louis mimes wiping his forehead in relief to the Syco security on the tarmac, shakes his head to his latest client - really called Styles, really sixteen, what is this non-fiction - and pulls him along into the first class lounge. 

When Harry sees the bar and stammers out a request that’s got a yawn in the middle, Louis’s heart jumps, but it finishes with ‘hot chocolate’ rather than ‘whiskey,’ and he relaxes. 

*

They spend the next two weeks establishing that Harry Styles has no L.A. apartment, doesn’t like hotels without internet ports near the bed, and thinks Louis’s couch is secretly a cat bed, and that he is a cat. This pales in comparison to the revelation that his fellow Brit doesn’t drink tea. 

Louis would feel bad about making an about-to-be-famous actor sleep on his couch, but it’s a poky one-bed in L.A. that he’s lucky to afford, and he and his double bed have catching up to do after the end of Chadgate, so he just doesn’t. Not that Harry seems to mind; he actually has a hotel room at the Beverly Wilshire under his name and he _chooses_ to stay on Louis’s couch. 

Harry spends two hours mucking with Louis’s DVD player and a dodgy region-switching disc to play a DVD that he’s dragged all the way from the U.K.. Louis protests, both on professional film industry grounds, and more importantly, because the last time _he_ switched the regions on his DVD player, he had to have shit imported from the U.K. for months until he caved and bought a new one. Then he sees why Harry’s making the bloody mess and protests again, lunges forward, and lifts a thin box from _next_ to the DVD player and holds it up. 

‘Coulda said, Louis,’ Harry says and throws a crisp at him from where he’s taking up half of the living room floor. ‘I’ve been wanting to see _The Parry_ for months.’ 

Louis resists the urge to hold the DVD cover against his chest. He lifts a cushion instead … because it’s softer. ‘Forgot I had it, didn’t I?’ (He didn’t.) ‘Now leave my poor DVD player alone - works harder than you do, that thing - and get up here. Sort it out while you’re there.’

Harry does, bless him, then crawls up to the couch to sprawl his legs over Louis’s and pass the ice cream back and forth between them. It’s strangely comfortable, and it’s not like Harry’s terribly-hidden homesickness is giving Louis a choice about taking him in. Still, he thinks he probably shouldn’t get used to having the green-eyed teenstar in the making as his mate, because that’s how things go horribly wrong for people like him in the industry. 

Louis knows that the same way he knows the road to someone else’s twelve step programme. 

Except then the film starts, and sure, Louis has seen it before, maybe a couple of times, but he’s going to be respectful and pay attention. If he pays extra attention to the part where the cute kid with the glasses and god-awful straightened hair gets a hair cut and learns to box without his specs (and shirt), it’s because Louis is a professional. 

Harry giggles into his shoulder when he shushes him during the final fight where the kid boxer takes on his bully and wins, fair and square. 

*

Gillian at the agency emails across the brief for Harry’s first film and couriers a new hard copy of the script a week before they’re scheduled to leave. 

‘God, I love Hollywood,’ Louis says, leaning back on the couch and kicking his feet. ‘You’re going to find the boy of your dreams some day, Harry Styles-’

Harry swats at him ineffectually. It doesn’t stop him grinning and flicking the pages of the script like it’s Christmas and birthdays all at once. ‘On a beach, apparently. It’s about the beauty of friendship, Lou.’

‘Sure, that’s what the internet’s going to say,’ Louis replies, ignoring the immediate nickname Harry saddled him with and gets a lapful of Harry’s skinny legs for his trouble. Skinny smelly legs, and he tells him, because he’s just back from the gym and hasn’t availed himself of the shower. 

Harry springs up via Louis’s lap to do just that, shoves his armpit in Louis’s face for his trouble - god, teenagers - and shoves a page of the script at him. 

‘Might want to look at that before we get on the plane,’ Harry sing-songs as he strips off on the way to the bathroom, dancing out of Louis’s reach. Louis was going to have boundaries this time, he was. If Louis thought Harry’s personal boundaries were low when he tripped off a plane, he hasn’t exactly worked on building them up post-jet-lag. Then Harry starts singing _if you can hold on, if you can hold on_ like it’s a fucking drumroll.

Louis clears his throat and remembers the montage where Andy knocks a punchbag off its perch in the low-lit gym in _The Parry_ while The Killers play in the background and Andy’s feet thud against the pavement in time to the song and _don’t you put me on the back-burner._

He picks up the list of Harry’s co-stars and reads it over as Harry’s voice belts out _I got soul but I’m not a soldier_ over and over from the shower and he’s left the door open like the fool he is. He’s going to get Louis kicked out of his _flat_ -

Oh _shit._

Liam Payne is the sea prince.

Right then. That’s perfectly fine.

* 

The damn haircut scene. 

A week later, the hair cut in _The Parry_ is why Louis doesn’t recognise Liam Payne when Harry _trips over him_ \- and Louis trips over Harry - in the first class lounge before their flight to Australia for the on location shoot of _Sea Prince._

Which is the film’s actual title, and Louis is sure he dealt with jaded twenty-somethings better than this. 

Suddenly there’s a pile of limbs on the airport floor, his glasses are somewhere vulnerable to stomping feet and at least six of the limbs involved seem to belong to Harry. 

There’s a cough above his head and a blur in a hoodie hands Louis his glasses. All Louis can see is one large hand while Harry apologises a lot at his left and Liam Payne hauls him to his feet. It’s six am. Louis wants coffee. He wants Harry to bring him coffee. But he’s pretty sure that’s not how it’s supposed to work outside their flat ( _his_ flat. Where Harry’s abandoned half his stuff ‘’for now.’’ Louis would like to mind more than he does). 

Then the person swims into focus when he jams his glasses onto his face and Harry’s singing but mostly giggling _Andy you’re a star_ under his breath and Louis is going to _kill him,_ except what he says is: ‘Your hair grew back.’ 

‘Um.’ Liam Payne’s eyebrows are actually more adorable in real life than on screen. This is horrible.

‘Oh, shit, that was a weird thing to say, anyway -’

At Louis’s left, Harry’s making a great first impression on his co-star by hanging off of Louis’s shoulder and laughing. 

Louis elbows him. Sharply. It’s okay if he looks like an idiot, however, he’s supposed to make sure Harry doesn’t. Most of the time. It might be a harder job that he originally thought. Kicking his arse on Nintendo DS (... the boxing game) is a whole other story. 

‘Harry, say hello to Liam Payne.’

Harry slouches to the left - terrible habit - and reaches out a hand. Liam takes it with all the joy of someone being asked to hold a slug and nods. 

‘So we’re all on the flight together, lads,’ Louis says to fill the silence, then pats Liam’s shoulder. Liam jumps back a little. Louis tries not to appreciate how well-defined his collarbones even though they’re right there poking out of his stretched hoodie collar. Shit. ‘Liam, Harry here is a late addition to the cast - missed the L.A. read-throughs - maybe you two should talk about that while I get myself a coffee? Can I get you - no, _good -’_

Louis has scarpered from rottweilers on private property while extracting Syco clients from dubious house parties in less of a hurry. 

It’s not until he’s standing at the tiny concession pouring himself coffee as dark as his cynical, old soul that he lets himself process the warm brown eyes under the hoodie or how soft Liam Payne’s ridiculous hair looked grown back in or how easily Liam Payne had picked up first Louis, then Harry, then Louis’s glasses ever so carefully. 

If he’s still rocking the workout routine he was in the DVD extras on _The Parry,_ it would explain his core strength. Not how long his torso looked under the hoodie. But the core strength. 

Happy to have rationalised the incident and put a note in his phone to triple check the terms of Harry’s insurance with respect to repeatedly falling over thin air - and that no one thinks Harry’s doing his own stunts at all ever - Louis straightens his glasses, downs his second cup of coffee (it’s disgusting, it’s not tea, but it does the job) and walks back to his client. 

Harry is curling up into Liam’s space like he’s some kind of climbing frame. And possibly because he’s got more self-preservation than Louis, Liam is edging away and patting Harry’s arm awkwardly. Harry leans in further.

Louis could save him. 

As he’s debating the moral issue at hand, and checking his emails, and trying to string together Harry’s sentences, the boarding call for first class sounds. 

Louis waves and thumbs his next email then looks up. Harry is giving him an imperious look that only stray cats and twin sisters have been able to master. Liam is looking baffled between them, standing at the entrance to the lounge with a worn duffle bag with the name of his fictional gym in _The Parry_ on it. He must have liked it enough to steal it from the set and that’s not adorable. It’s not. It’s _theft._

He probably felt guilty about it. Louis is not endeared. 

‘Lou, come _on.’_

‘Go on, film star, I’m in business,’ Louis says and rolls his eyes. Clearly he’s going to have to explain to Harry how the whole PA-not-fellow-film-star thing works. 

‘Not anymore, you aren’t,’ Harry’s voice rumbles and he tugs Louis up with a nod to Liam. ‘What if I need to ask you things? I called your office an’ told them to upgrade you.’ 

Liam looks between the two with a frown then picks up Louis’s bag before Louis can protest that he doesn’t exactly pack light. Louis makes an aborted attempt for him to not - it’s his work bag. He loves that satchel and what if Harry runs out of reading material? - but gives in when Harry makes a pathetic attempt to hold his hands together behind his back. 

‘Didn’t think you had abduction in you, Harold,’ Louis says over his shoulder as the warm air outside the lounge hits them. ‘I’ll have you know I’m a pesky and demanding prisoner.’

‘I believe it,’ Harry says grimly. ‘That’s why you’re sitting between me and Liam. That’s right, isn’t it? And if you don’t like it, I’m going to demand the power socket like the diva I am.’ 

Liam and Louis look at each other. Louis has grudging respect for how Harry clearly knows how monstrous he can be and get away with it; he hopes that Liam has equally grudging respect for what Louis has to put up with. 

*

Liam shifts in his incredibly expensive, properly calibrated seat in the first class section of the plane. Harry Styles lied in the lounged has folded himself up onto the window seat next to him with what looked like a Herculean effort. He’d tugged his limbs in under his feet like they were far longer than they actually appear to be. Liam thinks he should be grateful he’s out of the way this time but that’s probably not kind. 

He’s only been on one film more than him.

(Even if it was really, really successful, and he’s got the lead in this one because of it. Because of the shirtless scenes in it, more like, and he’s still not sure how he feels about that except: thank God he works out.)

Still. When he turned up at the airport on time - unescorted, having diligently booked his car the night before and kept receipts - the last thing Liam expected was to trip over his co-lead and his co-lead’s … person … in the airport. 

The bloke looks like an imp in stripes. He’s mimicking Harry’s posture across the aisle and looking more comfortable about it. Or did Harry copy Louis’s cross-legged position? Liam doesn’t know. Liam doesn’t actually care. They’re strange. 

And chatty. 

He’s certain they all left the same 6am. 

And yet. 

‘So in the scene with the rock castle ruins, what’s your motivation there? I mean, I was getting serious Disney vibes, wanted to sing _Part of Your World_ for a minute, but -’

What Liam doesn’t understand is how someone with such a low, calming voice can talk _so much,_ and so slowly. 

(He’s glad they don’t seem to be outright mean. He’d worried. The first thing they had done was laugh at him. And Harry sang that song from _The Parry_ soundtrack and Louis had started shifting uncomfortably: maybe Louis had said bad things about the film or not liked it before he found out who Harry would be working with? Liam doesn’t want to know.)

Someone from the cabin crew starts making their rounds. Liam raises a hand and starts in his seat. 

‘Tea, if you’ve-’

‘Please, if there’s tea-’

Liam looks at Louis, who’s sitting forward in his seat. 

Louis looks back at him. 

‘You drink tea.’

‘British, aren’t I?’ Liam replies. Well. It’s not like he’s found out the password to the Gryffindor common room or something.

‘Hey,’ Harry says, except it sounds more like, _heeeeeeeeaaaaay._

His voice cracks on it halfway through. Liam thought ‘hey’ only had the one vowel (he’s never been sure about ‘y’) but Harry makes it sound like at least a dozen different vowels. And emotions. 

‘That one doesn’t drink tea,’ Louis says, like he’s telling on him in school, with a quick grin. ‘You do, though.’

Liam does not understand why this is so important but he’ll go with it. Louis’s eyebrows narrow quickly and harshly when he claims the sugar sachets - both white and brown - that Louis disregards with contempt. Then his mouth drops open as Liam rips them open two at a time and empties them into his tea. Liam can feel his cheeks warming but he’s not going to change his morning tea because of some judgemental glaring new person. 

Liam clears his throat and looks at Harry. ‘Well, he can learn, can’t he?’ And if that isn’t the most ridiculous thing to say. He had to say _something_. For a judgemental glaring person Louis has very, _very_ blue eyes.

Which apparently squint when he smiles. It’d be cute if it weren’t before seven am. Which it is. 

‘Yes, yes, absolutely right,’ Louis says, adding a splash of milk to his own tea, ‘he’s still a young one, aren’t you, Harold?’

Harry leans forward, almost upsetting Liam’s tea and pouts at Louis. ‘You’re not very nice to me. I should have you fired.’ And that explains a bit more of who Louis is, but not even that much because Louis only laughs at Harry’s ‘threat’, which to be honest hadn’t sounded that threatening and more like a small baby animal growling. Not that Liam’s worried he might have got Louis, with his bright laugh, fired. 

Louis asks for a glass of juice and passes it off to Harry second later with, ‘I thought you were running lines with Liam.’

‘I was! You distracted him!’

Liam tries not to spit out his tea and tries to fight the blush he can feel crawling up his neck. Or the urge to look towards Louis. 

‘Excuses, excuses, Curly,’ Louis’s says, ‘Now back to work.’

Harry looks smug though. He smiles wide at Liam. 

‘Right so what was I--’

‘Ruins. _Part of your world._ Which I wouldn’t have been against you singing if this were a musical. In case you were wondering,’ Liam says. ‘In that case though you’d be the mermaid-- merman. Not me.’

Harry laughs with his whole face and body, almost falling into Liam’s lap (again) and Liam hears a soft chuckle from Louis’s seat. He doesn’t turn and more importantly he doesn’t _want_ to turn. Really.

However, he was right. Harry and Louis _are_ two strange and chatty blokes. He’s got a feeling they’re also probably not total arseholes.

An hour later Harry has fallen asleep on him, drooling on his shoulder, and Louis is taking a picture that he says is for Harry’s mum. Liam doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t move Harry, who looks even younger than his sixteen years when he’s asleep, and he lets Louis take as many pictures as he wants. He does stop him from drawing penises on the kid’s face. 

*

The worst thing that's ever happened to Louis is having a legitimate work-based reason to rank Liam Payne's t-shirts by tightness around the bicep. While he wears them. And while he does vaguely sexual, condom-packet style things with sugar sachets, which is just confusing on so many levels. 

It’s been a month. Louis has only had one massively embarrassing moment so far. That’s a lie, he’s had about fifty. Then Liam goes by Harry’s trailer to ask him something, so he turns up on Louis’s doorstep at the little cabin Louis is in. Harry’s stunt double has half, which is weird as all hell when Louis’s not got his glasses on. 

‘I wasn’t sure where Harry was, erm-’ Liam says. He’s hovering on the doorstep and tugging nervously at his baseball cap. Continuity states he’s not allowed to get sunburned, so he and Harry are both under hats if they aren’t in front of cameras. (Harry has bought a ridiculous straw thing.)

Louis forces his hands to be still at his sides. He’s not entirely used to seeing Liam Payne every day just yet. He’ll get used to it, because he’s a professional (damn it) and he’s used to seeing film stars every day, even ones he’s wanked to. It’s just harder - (damn it) - _more difficult_ when Liam’s caught Louis in his tartan pyjamas and a t-shirt with a hole in it and the mug of tea in his hand that has Girls Aloud on it. ( _Chemistry_ is his current Repeat Album on his iPod.)

Louis sees Liam’s eyes following Kevin, who is shirtless and walking through the tiny kitchen in the cabin. ‘That’s not Harry, mate, just looks like him from the back and falls over less.’ 

Liam nods. ‘I wasn’t sure where Harry- I mean.’

‘He’s asleep on my couch if you want to wake him up, but I’d rather you didn’t, because he’s been sleeping like shit.’ Louis leads Liam inside the cabin and watches as Liam makes a face. His eyes flicker to Harry, who’s curled up around a cushion. Louis wants to say ‘no’ like Liam’s a bad puppy or something when he looks legitimately worried about Harry. It’s illogical, utterly, so he doesn’t. 

‘We’ve got the third season of _The OC_ on and I’ve got a horrible feeling about everything if you want?’ He doesn’t even like _The OC_ but he relaxes by watching The CW, he’s not sorry about it, and _One Tree Hill_ is now off limits for at least a year. Liam nods stiffly. Louis has the distinct feeling that he thinks it would be rude to say no.

Louis watches in slow motion, hands clutching tighter and tighter around the mug, as Liam sits down, then Louis dives forward because _oh, shit._ He settles on the bean bag on his elbow and grins up at Liam, who is clearly judging him. 

Louis doesn’t blame him but he’d probably judge him _more_ \- or worse, run away - if he spotted _The Parry_ DVD Harry’s left sitting out by the TV. 

Harry is a dick. Louis tries to glare subtly at him. Harry just snores.

*

It’s not even a stunt that does it. Harry doesn’t really get to do stunts the same way that Liam does. Liam would feel mean thinking it except Harry’s clearly relieved when Kevin smoothly dives in to ‘’save’’ Liam from drowning only to discover Liam’s mer-tail has returned in time to save him. 

It’s nice that he cheers from the sides, though, and turns up to all the stunts to make sure he’s as up to date as he can be on what they’ve filmed so far. Liam approves of his dedication to making their on-screen friendship as fleshed out as it can be. If he’s allowed to use the word ‘fleshed’ on a merman film. 

Then one day Liam’s about to dive off a pier into Australia’s beautiful blue waters in neon green long, skin-tight shorts that the post-production people can use to map his mer-tail onto his human body. There’s no Harry making faces or ranking his dives like it's the Olympics by the side. It’s weird and he can no longer tease Tom about anything ever.

Louis is there. He looks at ease in his cut off denim shorts that hit just above his knees and fit his thighs snugly like _he’s_ the film star, with his Aviators, and his- his hair. On his head. Annoying. His hair is annoying, sitting there. On his head. It's been getting blonde highlights in the heavy Australian sun, the same sun that’s tanned Louis’s skin golden on set. 

God, Liam needs to pay attention. 

Except, is that phone red? He thought Louis’s Blackberry was black. He’s sure it was the other day. 

They do the dive a few times and Kevin flails in the water in a superb imitation of Harry’s swimming style while Liam saves him. The friendship was what attracted Liam to the script, even if the merman stuff seemed a bit glittery and weird. It’s not entirely a coincidence that Liam’s first film was about a boy overcoming his bullies through boxing and his second is a lonely boy making friends with a merman who saves him when the bullies throw him into the water. 

Off to the side, Liam notices Louis shifting his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose as Liam pulls himself back up onto the pier. His arms are a bit tired from running the scene so many times, but he’ll cope, and the second unit assistant director has just called a break. 

*

Louis shifts in the deck chair. It’s technically a prop but the film is set in a seaside resort, for fuck’s sake, so they’ve all been nicking the deckchairs for a nap most days. 

He thumbs through his emails after signing into his email accounts on the new phone. (Salt water. Turns out that’s pretty much battery death and the battery does not get better.) 

There’s an email from Lou in Costume asking if Harry’s got a half hour for fittings this week. Louis frowns at it. Didn’t they … do that … in L.A.? He remembers being bored shitless in a changing room while Harry asked if the t-shirt with daisies on it ‘fit his motivations.’ 

The sun glints off the assistant director’s blond hair from where he’s perched on top of the camera unit. ‘Take five, feckers!’

At least he’s not the only foul-mouthed fuck on set; Irish is as bad as he is. PG-13 Louis’s lily-white arse. 

Louis looks up in time to swallow hard. That’s some James Bond shit Liam Payne is pulling. He could just _swim to shore_ like Kevin, but no, he has to _drag himself_ back onto the pier using his copious upper body strength. God, who even needed to see that? Louis adjusts his sunglasses to shift the glare to a more advantageous position. 

Liam is towelling himself as he wanders over to Louis. Louis does not stand in the presence of fictional ocean royalty. He does wish the abs were as CGI as the scale-tail. They aren’t; sadly they’re as real as Liam’s horrible special effects trunks. He’s looked often enough to check. Louis’s life and job are just that hard. 

‘No Harry?’ Liam asks, nodding at the phone. 

‘Sleeping in the cabin,’ Louis responds, then glares at the costume email again and patting the deckchair next to him. He’s not _rude._ ‘Do you have more costume fittings this week? If you want a break with Harry, I could schedule yours and his in the same afternoon.’ 

Liam frowns and sits, but doesn’t lean back. It reminds Louis of his posture on the sofa in the cheap beach cabin Louis calls home. Liam never sits back on the sofa. He sits like he’s taking up too much space up just being there. The only time he’s looked halfway relaxed was three hours into a Pixar marathon, sitting cross-legged on a beanbag. It’s awkward. He’s awkward. 

Liam turns his knees towards Louis’s crossed ankles and doesn’t put a t-shirt on. He leans across Louis to pick up his sunglasses and phone, which Louis has been safeguarding, because Liam is on set without staff of his own, claiming he can look after himself. Stray water drops he’s missed in his rigorous towelling drop onto Louis’s (awesome) t-shirt with palm trees on it and his abs crunch around them as he sits back. It’s obscene and Louis does not approve. 

After a second, during which Liam tips his head back to take a long, refreshing drink out of a can of Pepsi with tape across the label in case there’s any paps around, Liam shakes his head. ‘Nothing in my messages about a fitting. Lou might just grab me by the neck, though.’

Liam sends him a quick grin at that, once he’s looked around to check Lou-the-Stylist isn’t within earshot, and Louis finds himself returning it without meaning to. 

‘Funny, Lou’s asked for Haz again,’ Louis says, frowning at the email. It hasn’t changed. ‘Kid must be shooting up like a weed. An annoying, pesky weed.’ 

He looks at Liam to see if that got so much as a smile - he’s taking Liam’s reserve as something of a personal challenge - but Liam is frowning. He opens his mouth to say something but there’s a shuffling sound all around them and a voice shouting, ‘Right, get your arses back here!’

Liam turns mid-jog back to the pier with a worried look on his face, then darts back to Louis to pass his sunglasses and phone back. He fumbles the pass because he’s in a rush and has optimistic expectations of Louis’s co-ordination; their fingers get tangled in the legs of the Ray Bans as they fall onto Louis’s stomach. Liam says, ‘Um,’ and Louis can’t help it, his stomach is shaking with suppressed laughter and the sunglasses are dancing a jig on it. Liam’s brown eyes are really very close to his face. 

Liam pauses and says, ‘Ask Lou about his jeans, if she’s been letting the hem down,’ and moves away with a wave that looks almost shy.

Louis doesn’t move until he gets his breath back, and by then, Liam’s shoulders have shifted subtly so he’s standing on the pier, surveying his ocean kingdom.

Fucking film stars. 

*

He really doesn’t have a reason to ask Lou about Harry’s jeans save Liam’s small comment that he doesn't really understand, but he does anyway. Apparently Liam not only has the abs of a young sea god - he may be psychic. Lady Lou, as Harry has deemed her, _has_ has let out the hems of Harry’s jeans twice in the last three weeks. He’s also been needing slightly larger shirts.

Harry hadn’t told Louis this. 

He’s also taken to wearing swim trunks everywhere and nobody notices the hems on those things.

And.

Oh.

_Damn it, Harry._

Louis almost throws his phone down on the ground. Instead he takes a deep breath and makes a few phone calls. It would have only hit sand anyway. 

*

He’s half-expecting the cabin to be dark, because that’s how it always is in films. _The cabin is dark when the hero arrives_... and it's entirely possible Liam might just be watching too many horror films in his hotel room. Louis’s cabin isn’t dark, however, and Liam can see into it through the wide window next to the door. He’s hoping Harry’s here, because well, Harry usually is. Liam stopped looking for Harry in his hotel room around day three of filming.

Liam tries not to worry or wonder too much about that. Liam wonders if Louis really gets confused when the two of them are about and Louis isn’t wearing his glasses. Not that Harry and Kevin look _that_ much alike. Kevin, Liam thinks, has blue eyes and much less curly hair.

Which is not a thing to be thinking about right now. 

He came here for a reason.

Licking his lips, he really hopes Harry answers the door this time, because Louis tends to answer in several degrees of undress. So does Harry, to be fair, but that’s a different thing altogether. Harry appears to be allergic to clothes.

There’s some garbled words that get clearer as he hears Louis move around inside. So much for his hopes. ‘Kevin, if you forgot your keys-- Oh. You’re not Kevin.’ Louis blinks at him as he pulls the door open. Liam tries not to notice how his glasses make his cheekbones look that much sharper or his bare feet on the tiled floor.

Liam shakes his head. ‘Um, no. I was...’ He lifts the bag in his hand. ‘Is Harry here?’

Louis steps aside and eyes the bag. ‘Are we having dinner? Harry didn’t tell me you were coming for dinner? Then again he’s been he sleeping all afternoon. Did you know he’s having actual growing pains? That’s why Lou needed him for a costume fitting. How did you know about the jeans? Did you know about the shirts, too?’ 

Louis is rambling. Liam has only witnessed it a few times so far and he probably shouldn’t find it as charming as he does, especially since it doesn’t seem like Louis likes to be caught word-vomiting. He always pulls a pinched face after he does it. 

Which he’s doing right now as he waves Liam in.

‘I guessed, about the jeans. Not the shirts. Also the sleeping thing that you mentioned reminded me that I saw him rubbing at his leg yesterday. Reminded me of myself a bit,’ Liam says. 

‘I should have noticed,’ Louis frowns. He looks over his shoulder towards where Harry must be napping and his eyebrows get that little furrow Liam wants to smooth out with his thumb. He wants to hug him and tell him it’s not his fault. He clears his throat and lifts his bag up again instead.

‘Um, I thought-- I mean. I remember what it was like and well, I brought some heat pads and milk.’

Louis lips curl at that. ‘Milk?’

‘Yeah, helps the calcium in the bones or summat. I just know I went through gallons when I was growing up. Tons of cereal too, but I didn’t know what Harry liked.’ Liam tries to ignore the blush he can feel growing in his cheeks and hopes the Australian sun has tanned him enough today that Louis doesn’t notice it either.

It’s entirely possible he does, though. 

Louis presses his lips together and Liam hopes it’s not because he’s laughing at him. 

‘Well, aren’t you something, Liam Payne?’ Louis says, leading Liam towards the living room where Harry is curled up on the sofa, sipping some orange juice with _When Harry Met Sally_ playing on the TV. ‘And he likes anything that’s mostly sugar.’

Harry looks up when Liam come in and grins. ‘Li! Hey! Come to see our dear Lou?’

Liam shakes his head, catching Louis’s eyes for a second. Louis sort of smiles and looks away. ‘No, nope, come to see you.’ Harry’s face goes from happy to confused to downright frowny then pleased in the span of three seconds. Liam bites his lip. 

‘Me?’

He moves to the sofa, setting the bag down on the coffee table strewn with romantic comedies. ‘Yeah, you, you tosser. You should have told us about your muscle cramps.’ Harry blushes and ducks his head. The four years between them suddenly seem a lot wider and Liam gives into the urge to ruffle Harry’s curls. ‘Also got you some heat pads and milk.’

‘Strawberry?’

‘Sorry, no. Um...’ Liam laughs and looks over his shoulder. 

Louis grins. ‘Strawberry milk, going on the list.’ He grabs the bag Liam brought and heads to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, ‘You’re getting regular milk right now though. Liam can cuddle you while I pour.’

Before Liam can protest, Harry is shuffling around on the sofa, making room for him, and well, it’d be rude to just leave now. He settles on the sofa and after a second of arguing with himself he pulls Harry’s legs on his lap. Harry smiles at him, folding himself up and resting his cheek on Liam's shoulder.

‘Now, Styles, what bit of your leg woke you up?’

Harry’s brows furrow but he points to his left calf and around his knee. ‘My back, too. The other night.’

Liam nods, pushing the leg of Harry’s joggers up and pressing gently into the muscle there. Harry makes a small noise and settles back against the sofa cushions again. ‘You should get Louis to book you a massage for legs and back. It’ll help. Also, do some stretches.’

‘My mum does yoga. I used to go with her.’

Liam grins, ‘Well, if you want we can do yoga, too.’

'I wasn't very good.' Harry sounds surprisingly sad about this. Liam bites his lip again. 

'Neither was I.' Which isn't exactly true: he just found he didn't have the patience for it and all the breathing stuff but it makes Harry brighten.

When Louis comes back in he stalls by the door for a second, a glass of milk in his hand. Liam hears his intake of breath. Harry is curled at his side telling Liam some story about well, Liam's not sure, but Harry seems to really like telling it and Liam is still rubbing slow circles on his calf. 

'Everything okay?' Liam asks, trying not to feel self-conscious about how Louis is staring at him and Harry. 

Louis seems to start and nods. 'Yeah, 'course, mate. 'Course. Here's your milk, Curly.' He hands the milk over to Harry who takes it automatically and Liam tries not to smile at how easily Harry takes direction, especially when it's Louis directing him. Louis sits on the armchair closest to Harry and for a second Liam worries that he took Louis’s place on the sofa, but then the film is playing again and Louis is going on about Harry's weakness for romantic comedies as Harry drinks his milk.

Liam settles back on the sofa and smiles at the pair of them, feeling comfortable and strangely at home.

*

One romantic comedy love-in does not a growth spurt finish, though, and God, does Louis find _that_ out. Not only does Harry have the distinction of being his youngest ever client, Louis is pretty sure that if pain and cramps are proportionate to eventual height, he’s going to be Louis’s _tallest_ ever client too. 

Thank God he isn’t in it alone. Between all the time difference-hell phone calls and Skype meetings about Harry’s life in six months and the press tour, and keeping the continuity fiends off their back (his _back,_ off his _back,_ fuck he needs to be sleeping now) and keeping Harry’s strawberry milk (with extra calcium) topped up, Louis needs a raise, a sleep and never, ever to let Liam leave their radius ever again. 

‘He’s sweet, too, I hate him a little, I’m not going to lie to you,’ Louis mutters into the phone while he’s walking back to the trailer. ‘It’s all terribly difficult. I feel so bad about it.’

‘That’s lovely, dear, but how’s my son? And have you measured him this week? We have bets to settle on this side of the world.’ 

Louis lets out a sigh and waves to the man hovering by the cabin door. Louis has never found out much more about the second unit assistant director other than that he’s Irish, useful and keeps the weirdest hours; he keeps himself apart from the main crew when they aren’t working.

He stumbled into Niall one 4am after a night spent sleeping on the shitty couch while Harry slept badly on his bed next door, tossing and turning like he was trying to escape an underwater stunt. Louis has never gotten his number or anything, but Niall always seems to pop up bearing coffee and tea, painkillers, DVDs he ‘prescribes’ them and additional tubes of Deep Heat that runners could have brought them. Usually, he appears when Louis is so tired he can’t put two steps in front of each other, which is nice, but makes Louis wonder if he’s a hallucination.

They exchange a manly fist bump and Niall heads off back in the direction of the set, baseball cap on and whistling. 

Anne coughs down the line because subtlety is a family trademark. Louis smiles and groans at the same time while opening the door. It’s his usual Liam-is-here reaction at this point. ‘Oh, I think Harry’s fine, he just likes the attention. Liam’s snuggled up next to him and we’re onto _Mean Girls_ again for the - help me out here, Haz, your mum’s worried you’re getting Lindsay Lohan withdrawal - sixth time this week?’ 

‘Your turn,’ Liam says quietly, sitting up to let Louis slide under Harry’s legs on the couch. Louis looks between Harry, who’s giving him a middle finger with a chocolate straw, and the TV. This isn’t going to work. 

‘Anne, love, I’m afraid things are about to get hot and sticky, can I pass you to Liam?’

‘Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Louis?’

Liam looks at the phone awkwardly as Louis squeezes Deep Heat onto his palms and feels them tingle. He’d tell Harry to do it himself, it’s not like he can’t reach his own bloody thigh, but his track record with Deep Heat is a tragedy in three acts. How he keeps getting it in his eye baffles Louis, but now he’s calling Deep Heat his ‘nemesis’, and Louis’s heard inauspicious shouts from the bathroom. He doesn’t want to know or need to know what’s between Harry and Deep Heat, but Louis thinks he’s had less acrimonious break ups with actual people in his actual life. 

‘Um, Mrs Cox, um, I think he actually does,’ Liam says and thumbs the phone onto speaker because Harry is too lazy to reach forward to claim it. There’s a silence and Louis tries not to look to see if Liam is watching Louis massage Harry’s thigh while Harry makes pornographic noises about it. (He might check the once.) 

_’Oh, you are a sweet one, aren’t you? What are you doing with those two? They’ll only corrupt you, you know.’_

Louis shouts, ‘Hey!’ 

He did help Harry pick out the Mother’s Day flowers he sent (twice: once for the U.K. and once for the U.S. holidays) and he doesn’t think Anne’s _really_ known him long enough to be saying such things. Just because he talks to Harry’s mum and sister on the phone almost every day doesn’t mean they _know_ him. 

_’And it’s Anne, love.’_

‘No, it’s _mum,’_ Harry says, leaning forward and grinning. 

‘Oh, is that my son? I thought he’d forgotten how to phone home,’ Anne says, and Louis and Liam share a look that almost turns into a laugh while Harry fumbles for the phone with both hands and apologises.

Louis and Liam reach for Harry's milk glass at the same time and thank God they manage to catch it this time, fingers tangling for a second before Louis sets the glass back down. The coffee table has had enough abuse. And yes, that's what he's choosing to focus on.

*

Liam goes back to his hotel room hours later, after having spent most of his time in the cabin rubbing more Deep Heat (the devil's tool) onto Harry's back and going over tomorrow's scene with him as he does. 

Harry turns to Lou. 'I think you've infected me with your Liam crush.'

Louis turns from where he's picking up the tea mugs and milk glasses and levels Harry with a look.

'You're not funny, Harold.'

'I'm serious. I think I'm a little bit in love. What's that thing that where patients fall for their doctors or nurses?'

Louis sighs, but his mouth is a thin line and Harry's learnt means Louis is trying not to let himself get annoyed. Or jealous, Harry thinks to himself. 'I dunno, but I'm sure you don't have it, Curly. Now, take your painkillers and get to bed. Call time is at seven tomorrow. Also, don't go and start teasing Liam with that.' Lou’s eyes narrow. _’Any_ of that.’

Harry giggles, Louis is so gone and doesn't even know it. 'Fine, whatever. But you do know you're fucked, right?'

'Go to bed, Harry.'

Pushing himself off the sofa, Harry rolls his eyes and heads to Louis's room where he's been kipping. He _is_ a bit tired. 'Next thing you know he'll be musically gifted or some shit. Maybe I'll get him to sing _Mr. Brightside_ on set with me tomorrow.'

'You're a menace!' Louis shouts from the kitchen, but Harry can hear he's trying not laugh so he smiles.

*

Liam doesn’t sing _Mr Brightside._

He sings a _Little Mermaid_ medley with Harry on harmonies, complete with a beat-boxing breakdown when they get to 'Under the Sea'. 

Somewhere between Liam grinning at Harry so wide his cheeks fold, Louis has to fight not to hyperventilate. This is made worse by half the crew - and Louis - being dragged in for a rousing final chorus. It’s going to end up on the DVD extras and Louis will never ever be able to pretend it never happened, that Liam didn’t _remember_ what he and Harry talked about about at six am on a flight to Australia before any of them were friends or fish royalty. 

‘I’m supposed to have a _neat list_ of people’s obnoxiously talented talents,’ Louis hisses into Harry’s ear as the wrap party kicks off around them properly. ‘He said he was more of an athletic person! Where did he even get the guitar?’

‘Your blond mate brought it, obviously,’ Harry says back, twirling Louis as the actual band starts. ‘And you only get a list if you’re working _for_ them! Who knows what else Liam is good at?’

Louis sticks his tongue out as Harry waggles his eyebrows and yes, Harold, we all understood the innuendo. Louis’s life is so hard. He tries his hardest not to look over to where Liam is dancing in perfect sync with his flashback child actor for the camera. That’ll be street dancing on the list as well, then, and working with children. Fuck.

‘Do you want more painkillers? I’ve got a whole pack in my bag. The non-drowsy kind,’ Louis asks Harry, helpfully.

‘Stop trying to drug me so I won’t notice things!’ Harry shouts back, putting his hands on his hips then his head about two beats too late for the Macarena. Louis turns the wrong way on purpose and laughs when Harry follows him with a curse. 

 

*

_Later, Bradford._

He’s trying to pick between _Fantastic Four_ and _Batman Begins_ , neither of which he loved in the cinema. Maybe he should just get _Mr. and Mrs. Smith._ No, he’s trying to give the Marvel and DC adaptations a second chance, despite their betrayal. That’s when Doniya slides up to him and waves her choice in front of his face. 

Zayn groans. ‘No, not again.’

‘Shut it, we’re getting it,’ she says, grinning, actually more like smirking. Zayn loves his sisters, he really does, except when he hates them. 

It’s bad enough all three of them dragged him to see _Sea Prince_ about five times in the cinema; he can’t imagine what his life will actually be like if they _own_ it. Why couldn’t they like Liam Payne’s other film, the one about boxing. It wasn’t bad. Had an ace soundtrack. He’s so tired of merpeople. You just can’t trust someone who wants to spend so much time in the water. And he doesn’t even want to talk about what happens when Harry Styles _smiles_.

Sighing, he pops both his current and now rejected choices back on the shelf and grins at Doniya. ‘Fine, but if you’re getting that, I’m getting an anime.’

Doniya sniffs and rolls her eyes. ‘Fine, but none of that scary crap. It gives Safaa nightmares.’

‘I _know_ ,’ Zayn shoots back and makes his way over to see what he can find for ten quid or under.


	2. Chapter 2

_**2\. won’t treat you like you’re oh so typical** _

_(Harry is 17.)_

The day Harry unpacks his last box in his new place in London is the anniversary of the _Sea Prince_ premiere, so of course, they all meet for dinner. 

Liam rounds the corner to Harry’s building as he hears a familiar voice saying, ‘Oi, Styles, buzz me the fuck up! I built it, now let me come in!’

Liam clears his throat and Louis turns on his heel, grinning when he sees him. Liam stuffs his hands in his pockets and wonders why he bothers a second later. When Harry buzzes them in, they’re hugging ten feet away, and Harry’s voice swears through the speaker that Louis is a useless shit. 

Liam feels Louis’s braces against his shoulder blades as they hug and thinks the drivers in London probably appreciate his bright trousers because it’s not like he’s shown caution about walking into the road in his life. His hair is rucked up at the side and artfully disheveled instead of flat against his forehead. It’s an irritatingly good look on him. Not that his old look was bad, it’s just... different. 

‘I was hugging Liam, Liam’s here!’ 

‘Oohhhhh,’ Harry says slowly, then buzzes them in yet again without further complaint. Liam used to wonder how these two ever got anything done. After one press tour that never seemed to end (mermen: surprisingly popular) where he watched Louis run Harry’s life - and slowly the whole tour - Liam’s shelved his scepticism for another day. 

It’s nice that Harry missed him, too. 

‘We’re going out for dinner, right? I’m starving,’ Louis says as soon as they walk in. 

Harry looks mortally offended. ‘I have a whole brand new kitchen right there. _There,_ Lou.’

‘I know,’ Louis says, ‘we built it. Do you know how I feel about flatpack? We had that conversation.’ 

Liam looks around the flat. It looks better populated with Harry’s random knick-knacks, jackets and books than it did when they were just dumping boxes from the Cheshire house anywhere and the contents of Harry’s childhood bedroom had seemed to disappear into the space. It’s all warm clutter and polka dot baking tins. Homey. Liam likes that. It’s not a bit like his. His place is all black and white covered in dust and the landlord’s furniture. For all he’s been in it lately, it’s like all the bright colour has faded from it. 

‘I’m surprised we survived it,’ Harry responds seriously, leaning on the breakfast bar and rolling his eyes. ‘I think most married couples fight less about fucking flatpack than you two.’ 

‘Food though, yeah?’ Liam puts in, because for some reason, they’re better at not being mad at him when he says what Louis said a minute ago but in a less horrible way.

‘I’m not ordering takeaway,’ Harry says instantly, clenching his fists in his novelty apron. It’s a shirtless male torso with the start of a merman lower half. ‘My kitchen, my rules.’

Liam could point out that Louis viewed the flat, picked it out, arranged for the three of them to spend the weekend in Cheshire and bodily extracted Harry from his mother’s house, but he won’t. Harry’s clearly enjoying himself. 

Liam privately wonders if Harry is actually ever going to stay in the new place, since he never seems to end up where he’s supposed to, but he keeps it to himself. 

‘Then we’re going out,’ Liam says logically, nudging Louis with his elbow. Louis nods and throws the nearest jacket at Harry’s head. It’s hemp and expensive, but Harry’s a film star now, so he probably didn’t baulk too much at the price tag. 

Harry insists on giving them the tour before they go and they nod along. Even when Harry starts showing them the bookcases Liam put together himself while Harry and Louis threw bubble wrap and styrofoam packaging at each other.

*

They go to an Italian place Louis loves. They’ve been there before, but nobody mentions it, because the menu is about twenty pages long and Louis thinks he could probably eat there every week they’re in the UK and never run out of ways to mix up his pasta, pizza and ice cream combinations. 

Liam and Harry flip through the menu once, twice, and then a third time like it's suddenly changed and it will helpfully decide for them. It never does. The menu hasn't changed in all the months Louis has been eating here. Liam and Harry are just useless at restaurants and he's learned to accept this about them.

When Harry flips the menu to the front for the fourth time, slowly, like it’s a Russian novel, he groans. 

'It hasn't changed, you know?' Did he say learned to accept? _Learning_. 'And we all know you're going for a pasta.' Louis takes a sip of his red wine and then tilts the glass to Liam, 'And you're going to order a pizza, so if you could two could _please_ make up your minds there's a waiter hovering very discreetly in the corner waiting for us.' 

Louis is well aware many other clients would have had him fired for that, have fired him for less at times, but well, Liam isn't strictly a client and Harry is Harry. They both flush a little. Louis waves over the waiter that's pretending he doesn't recognise either of them and they order their pasta and pizza respectively. Louis has a chicken milanese; his favourite here.

Harry is asking Liam about his next projects and god, it sounds like Liam Payne is on his way to becoming a proper A-list film star. He's talking about two separate films and Louis isn't mentally wondering if Liam finally expanded his team to deal with what's coming for him. He knows Harry is in talks for a new series based on some dystopian book series that Louis has never heard of, but the studio will handle half the heavy lifting there, especially if they decide to commit to Harry. The project sounds... well, Harry seems to like it.

He's really excited about getting his driving license for the films.

Louis is... less excited. He's going to have to call about Harry's insurance policies again (all of them) and hopes there will be _many_ stunt drivers. He’s quietly checked Kevin’s stunt driving credentials; they’re good, and he’s willing to have the perm back in long-term, even if he did say he’d never be able to go outside in London again. Louis thinks he’s probably joking. 

‘So who’s your person?’ Louis asks, pointing his fork at Liam. So much for not wondering about Liam’s team. He’s going to need that information. Harry and Liam are friends, proper-like, and Louis thinks he and Liam are friends, probably. Friends enough that Louis wants to check his new assistant’s references before anyone swaps bank details. 

Liam swallows the bite of pizza he’s on while shaking his head. ‘Don’ have one.’

Louis blinks. He’s flashing back to those episodes of Grand Designs where some fuckwits think they can build a six bedroom villa in the middle of nowhere without giving up their full time jobs or hiring a project manager. In winter. Also history lessons about invading Russia. In winter. 

It’s a very nice restaurant, which he likes very much, which is the only reason the fork is sat down by a clenched fist rather than thrown at Liam’s head. 

‘This shite again, mate?’ Harry puts in from the side, eyes wide. ‘Because it’s shite, I’ve mentioned that, right?’

Liam ducks his head while Louis puts his head back together, because some of the directors Liam’s mentioned are _a big deal_ and, well, there will be people around on set, and on set assistants, and the studios will manage the tours, but -

‘Come the fuck on, Liam,’ Louis says, and that part, he says out loud. Oops. Still. Again: Liam can’t exactly fire him, so whatever. ‘Stop being embarrassed about being somebody’s full time job and get some bloody sleep. I can email you names.’

Liam rolls his eyes. There was a time when Louis would have crowed about that small sign of displeasure, because Liam’s usually so eager to please, but now it just pisses him off. He’s about to launch into a list of Reasons Liam’s Being An Idiot About the PA Thing but his phone rings. It’s the producer for Harry’s films, according to the caller ID. He picks up the phone, levels Liam with a look because this discussion isn’t over, and hops up from his seat with a wave to the other two and ducks into the kitchen at the waiter’s nod. 

*

Liam looks between Harry and the empty chair. Louis moves _fast;_ all that’s left of the rant he was building up to is the kitchen’s swinging door. Louis can never sit still when he has a point to make, so shoving his foot under his arse to sit on his ankle is a dead easy tell that he’s about to go off on one, or cut an interview short because an interviewer asked Harry _that_ question they were warned not to ask. (Chancers.) 

‘He’s such a -’ Liam can’t finish it. He wants to say ‘dick’ but he’s in the UK, and they’re in public. 

Harry huffs a laugh that Liam barely hears. 

‘He’s got a point,’ Harry says, stealing a chip from the plate of food Louis ordered without pausing for breath. ‘Or, well, he was about to make a point.’

Liam takes a breath, then a drink of his Coke. He’s been getting this speech for about six months from just about everybody he’s ever met and some people that he hasn’t met yet. Like his life is run by bloody committee. Except it isn’t, because it’s _his_ life.

Some people may have used the word ‘stubborn.’ Liam prefers ‘determined.’ 

‘Though,’ and Harry’s drawing it out like he’s being casual, which is a dead giveaway that he’s been rewording whatever he’s about to say since they sat down. Liam waits, one eyebrow cocked in Harry’s direction and Harry shreds a napkin with his bare hands. It’s amazing how many things people betray about themselves when you go on a junket with them and sit through thirty interviews a day for a week. ‘Well, some of my lot don’t really love Louis’s style, if you know what I mean.’ 

‘Oh, really?’ Liam says diplomatically. He wasn’t about to argue with Louis in a restaurant five minutes ago, nope.

‘You know, think he’s a bit harsh sometimes. Not very press friendly,’ Harry says, and really, if Harry wants to have this conversation before Louis finishes talking with a producer in the kitchen, he’s going to have to speed up. 

‘What’s your point, Haz?’ Liam asks, topping up Harry’s wine glass in case it helps. 

Harry looks torn and then sighs dramatically. ‘I suppose I could let him go.’

Liam feels his eyes widen and his fists clench. It’s the most - stuck up actorly thing he’s ever heard Harry say. Not just that: Harry and Louis are inseparable in Liam’s mind. He literally met them both in the same breath, in the same pile of limbs somewhere on a floor in L.A.X, like a sea monster waiting to drag him into their mad little schemes and eat fleets of pirate ships. 

‘God, no, not like-’ Harry’s gone a bit red, must’ve realised how he sounded, and Liam lets out a breath. It wasn’t just Louis he was worried about for a second there; Harry’s a wonder, and Liam doesn’t always mean it in awe of his talent. Harry leans over and grabs Liam’s hand. His hand is warm and his grip is tight. ‘You know how he doesn’t get on with everyone, yeah?’ Liam nods. ‘He’s pissed off a couple of people at the studio working on the franchise, Li, and I don’t know what to do about it. My agent has been making some not-so-subtle hints about how Louis’s contract isn’t long term, and it’s with the agency, not _Louis._ You know what he’s like when he decides he doesn’t like someone.’ 

Yes, Liam knows. He sent a fruit basket to the entertainment team at _People_ after they had a run in with the three of them on the _Sea Prince_ junket; Liam privately agreed with Louis, and he was trying to think of a way to get rid of the idiot before Harry _cried_ , but, well. 

Louis’s methods were a bit more extreme. He’s really _very_ protective of Harry.

And Liam knows from a guy who knows a guy that Louis still won’t take their calls about interviewing Harry again. 

Liam’s beginning to get it. ‘You think they’ll fire him if you don’t … do something?’

Harry nods, knuckles white, and Liam winces. This is specifically why he doesn’t want a team. He’s twenty-one (the cake was amazing, his mates at home trying to get him drunk on disgusting shots less so). Harry’s _seventeen_ and he’s expected to hire and fire people like, well, it’s some kind of film, or the boardroom of _The Apprentice._

‘We’ll sort it out, Hazza,’ Liam finds himself saying, finds himself promising and believing he’ll follow through. ‘We won’t let them fuck our Louis over.’ 

Harry looks up at him, eyes bright like he’d actually been about to cry, and nods. 

‘Right, so I’m thinking a beige colour palette for the ice cream,’ Louis’s voice says over Liam’s shoulder as he bounces back into his seat with a quick hand on Harry’s shoulder when he looks up at him. ‘Vanilla, chili and toffee. Classic,’ Louis rubs his hands together and grins at them. 

Liam feels something in his stomach clench. Harry’s clearly not been telling him things again; he’s going to catch Louis-brand hell for that, it’s Louis’s least favourite thing, but it’s also not Liam’s business right now. 

‘Ice cream again, Tommo?’ he says instead, looking at the dessert menu above his plate of demolished pizza. ‘There’s about three pages of other desserts here that I can see.’

He gets a cuff around the back of his head - which Louis has to half jump out of his seat to reach - for his trouble. 

*

Two weeks later Liam has confirmation of his film schedule for the next six months. And then the four months after that, because after about a month of talking to his agent, various directors and studios, he’s managed to book two films and they’re pretty much shooting back to back. Liam doesn’t mind. He likes working. He likes keeping busy. He really like the films. 

Then he sees his schedule. 

He honestly doesn’t want (or need) a personal assistant no matter what everyone around him says, but he’s already exhausted and he’s only made two phone calls. He knows he could ask his agency, or contact Louis’s agency directly, and they’d get him someone good. He knows that if he really pushed himself he could handle this all on his own and he’s tempted to try that first. 

But Harry’s words keep running through his head. 

And so do Louis’s, annoyingly enough. Liam’s not _embarrassed_ that he could be someone’s full time job. He’s not. Okay, maybe he is a bit. Maybe Louis is a perceptive bastard. Lots of people are someone’s full time job: Liam knows a guy who worked on the second unit of _Sea Prince_ who’s just taken a job with Niall Horan’s new production company, and his job is organising Niall Horan’s life between his commercial projects and the projects he really wants. 

Except Sandy hadn’t put it like that. He’d said he was grateful sticking with Horan was working out, because he knew the young director would look after him if things went to shit. 

Liam’s never thought about it like that. Being able to take care of people. 

And at least he already knows Louis. Knows how good Louis is at his job and how well he’s done by Harry.

Looking around the small flat he’s barely lived in the last year, Liam taps the edge of his mobile against his lips, considering. 

There are other PAs in the world who are not Louis Tomlinson. PAs that Liam doesn’t know, that Liam hasn’t seen fall asleep on a sofa or watched their ever-growing tattoo collection. Good, professional PAs that don’t pinch Liam’s nipples or that Liam hasn’t has the fleeting thought of taking out to dinner, sans Harry.

It would probably be better for Liam to hire one of those. 

Apparently, however, he’s already dialing Harry. 

It takes almost a full minute for Harry to answer with a rambled, ‘Hey, Li! Guess what I’m doing--’

Liam will guess in a second but first. ‘Okay, Harry, I’ll hire Louis.’

He can hear Harry’s small intake of breath and then his happy _yay!_. ‘Cool, perfect, I guess I’m firing him now then.’

Pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose, Liam sighs. ‘He’s going to kill us.’

Harry laughs. ‘Nah, Lou loves us. Besides, I’m about to do something _amazing.’_

Liam is pretty sure Louis loves Harry and only tolerates Liam most of the time because Harry likes Liam, but Harry sounds so happy, relieved and downright gleeful that he doesn’t say anything. Reaching over to switch on the kettle, Liam shakes his head. 

‘So what are you doing, Hazza? And do I have to have the bail money ready?’ 

Leave it to Harry to bury the lede.

*

The tattoo stings and Harry wonders if he should have filled the star in, but he hadn’t been sure of his pain tolerance. He probably could have stood to have it filled in. Maybe he’ll come back and do that. He kinda likes the star as it is now, unfilled and full of promise. Which, oh, that will be a nice soundbite if anyone asks. Also it makes his bicep look awesome and badass. Honestly, he just liked it. He’s always wanted a tattoo, and Louis has got some great ones.

Harry gently rubs at the edge of the bandage as the gorgeous bloke with a really awesome looking forearm sleeve at the till mumbles the price without looking up from his book. He’s wearing a ‘Cool Kids Don’t Dance’ t-shirt that Harry loves a lot. He almost feels liek asking what book he’s reading, but he probably shouldn’t bring too much attention to himself. He hands over seventy quid and pulls out his phone as the door closes behind him.

Liam told him to call him when he was done after he couldn’t talk Harry out of going into the tattoo parlour. 

Not that Liam has any room to talk in Harry’s opinion. He’s seen him eye Louis’s tattoos when he thinks Louis or Harry aren’t looking. 

*

'Fucking _actors,_ I hate actors -'

Liam answers his phone and wonders if Louis has dialled the right number. Last time Liam checked imdb pro, he was still listed as an actor. 

'A tattoo, Payner, he went off-book and got a fucking tattoo,' Louis says, a door slamming behind him wherever he is. 

'Tommo, you have about ten-' Liam starts, then hears an explosion of breath into the mouthpiece. 

'Don't even, don't _even_ , that is different. I'm not getting photographed every five seconds! The internet doesn't devote whole sites to my movements and whether they'll make me a better or worse Jax! Do you know how annoying tattoos are to cover up?' 

Liam is smiling, but he can hear the real worry in Louis's voice. He knows, as well, that Harry's been getting more and more attention since _The Road_ casting came out: the fans of the books have been breaking out their photoshop programmes on every available picture of Harry and the press have been trying to provide more raw material, especially when Harry was seen dating Caroline, the cute TV presenter he'd flirted with on the press tour. Liam is still sad for Harry that it didn’t work out even though he promises it was all very friendly. 

'Then he sort of _fired_ me! God! Who's going to stop him getting more horribly tacky tattoos now?' Louis says, and Liam pauses where he's standing in his flat, shrugging off his jacket. Maybe Harry isn't the only person who can take a while to get to the point, though sometimes, that's Louis's job. 'I know, I know, it's his body, but-' Louis makes a wordless sound of rage and Liam can hear a kettle boiling.

He can picture Louis's cramped little studio flat in Belgravia, because he's been there to pick up Harry for events, even if Harry sometimes defines an event as 'it's Friday.' It's more homely and lively than Liam's, even if it's a complete and total mess, and Louis only lives there half the time nowadays. 

'Did Harry say anything about why he's-? I mean, are you two fighting now?' The idea isn't totally laughable, but it's just about ridiculous. 

Liam jumps at a sharp sound on the line and Louis's voice takes on a distant tone. 'Sorry, mate, put the phone down on speaker, might have been a bit violent with it.'

'Watch your tea,' Liam says automatically. He thought he was imagining it in Australia, once upon a time, but no, Louis is just that shit with phones, as Liam learned one day when he accidentally used his work phone as a coaster and it went horribly wrong. Well, the jury’s still out on _accidentally._

There's the sound of something scraping along a table while Louis is silent on the line. 

Liam realises that he's too used to phone conferences all of a sudden; they're in the same bloody city, and they don't live that far apart. Louis is all noise and movement, talking with his hands and his feet. Liam feels like he's missing half of his marks talking to him like this. 'Tommo, what if I pick up something from that Chinese takeaway place near yours and you put the kettle on again, yeah?' 

'This isn't a break up. I don't need you to come around just to cuddle me or anything,' Louis snaps on the other end of the line. Which considering it’s _Louis_ is a terrible lie on a good day.

'Yeah, but I've got a tub of ice cream with your name on it,' Liam says, cradling the phone in the crook of his neck and picking up his shoes. He takes a breath. 'And an idea.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, don't we have excellent timing?

_**3\. so glad you have a one track mind (like me)** _

_(Harry is 18.)_

‘Drive, Paul, get us out of here,’ Louis says in a raised, clipped tone that’s nearly a shout to the front of the car. The paps converge like a zombie horde or sharks sensing blood in the water. 

He’s not surprised that that’s their first reaction to Liam bashing his head off of the top of the car on his way into it with a Hollywood spray of blood. They’re in _that_ much of a rush, and the paps are _that_ fucking vicious this week, but Louis’s definitely mad about it. 

Bloody Britain. He loves it. He loves working with people who split their time on both sides of the ocean. He loves that his mum and sisters have seen more of him since Harry and Liam tripped into his life - or he tripped into theirs - than in the four years before that; that his mum and sisters love Harry and Liam, too. He remembers why he was so keen on taking the Belgravia flat again.

But he wishes so, so much that the restrictions on window tints were less strict, just this once. He’s aware enough to know that the pictures of Liam’s injury will be brutal and on the internet in about five minutes. Fucking Perez Hilton is going to be all over this one, too. He probably still hasn’t forgiven Louis for that thing in last time they were in L.A.. Then again, Louis hasn’t forgiven that wanker either.

Louis mentally lists all the people he has to get in touch with because Liam’s a tired fucking numpty who forgets how tall he is these days. Maybe he’ll even catch Harry, Ruth or Karen before the pictures get onto twitter. Bloody sodding _twitter._ It’s worse than facebook and Louis has the sad, sad feeling that it’s not going away.

‘Yeah, yeah, a minute here, we need -’ Louis starts, then gives up on the phone call. 

He pinches the soft skin between Liam’s index finger and thumb on the hand closest to him. Liam smiles at him and it sends Louis’s stomach funny because it’s vague and unfocused and _not quite Liam._ Louis pinches his hand again, harder, and doesn’t look at the blood darkening and matting together Liam’s left eyebrow. The cut didn’t seem deep, but it slashes across half of Liam’s forehead and even though Louis thinks he remembers hearing somewhere that head wounds tend to bleed a lot--

Liam is _bleeding._

Louis balances the phone - why is this person still talking at him? He’s sure it was important - in the crook of his neck as the flashes go off outside the window. Paul takes one look into the back of the car and swears. His mouth thins into a line and the Beemer lurches into life gently but urgently with a peep of the horn that sounds painfully _polite_ to Louis, who doesn’t give a shit about the scattering paps if he’s honest. They don’t scatter fast enough; he’s sure a bunch of them got through-window shots. 

Louis loves Paul. Louis’s life has gotten a little bit easier since Simon sent him Paul. And oh _shit,_ they have a thing, then a transatlantic _flight,_ and Liam just - 

It’s not his first flight of the month. 

The voice on the phone babbles on as Paul glides the car around the two corners away from the press with both care and speed. Louis fastens his seat belt - Liam hates when he doesn’t. It’s less than a minute to the road but Louis feels every second of it. The second they’re up to speed and out on the motorway away from the studio car park, Louis thumbs off the seatbelt and dives. 

The phone falls onto the leather of the car seat. Louis doesn’t pick it back up. 

Liam’s eyes flick towards it but he doesn’t say anything about it. Louis climbs onto Liam’s lap - stubborn wretch of a boy won’t let him help if he doesn’t make sure he can’t escape it - and a small green box lands on the seat next to them the second Louis’s arse is clear of it. 

Louis _really_ loves Paul. 

Louis shifts so his thighs are bracketing Liam’s, warm in the soft, light denim he’s been favouring lately and slides his hands along Liam’s jaw so his thumbs are nearly at the corners of Liam’s mouth. He’s still smiling: he probably thinks it’s reassuring but there’s blood in his canines, so that’s a no. Louis’s fingers are curved along Liam’s jawline. Louis feels his fingertips brushing the short hair at Liam’s hairline. Liam lets out a breath and the radio in the front, with a sense of unappreciated humour, continues playing Leona Lewis bleeding, bleeding love. 

Louis feels the breath punched out of his lungs when Liam looks up, eyes coming into focus and leaning forward as the car speeds up, and Louis is rocked forward towards him. There’s a lemon tree air freshener swinging like a pendulum just past Liam’s ear in the corner of Louis’s vision, marking time like a ticking grandfather clock. 

Louis slides his hands up behind Liam’s ears to tilt his head back with his heart hammering in his throat and ears and ribcage. He doesn’t let the movement of the car move him back an inch, even when Paul stops accelerating and the truly expensive suspension does its thing, so Louis feels like no part of them is connected to the ground. 

The white noise in his ears subsides and he realises it wasn’t his heartbeat thudding low and impatient; it was _Liam_ stuttering out _shit, sorry, the shirt, the shoot, Louis, shit, I’m sorry_ over and over again. 

It snaps Louis back to himself and he feels his throat and cheeks flush as he realises he’s _straddling Liam_ in the back of a car. Then Liam’s eyes flutter shut with a quiet groan and he lets Louis’s hands take the weight of his head, lowering his chin, and Louis can see exactly how bruised and dark the skin under his eyes looks close up. He’s going to be furious about it, too. Later. Really furious. He’s really furious _now,_ actually. 

‘Liam, look at me,’ Louis says sharply, tightening his legs around Liam’s. ‘Let me see your bloody face.’

Liam tilts his head back up slowly, and Louis starts hearing other things again, like the voice on the phone asking where they are that sounds tinny and small. The voice is not in the car with them, because the company voice is _never_ in the car with them. They’re probably asking when they’ll get to the shoot. 

‘Ha,’ Liam says quietly, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘Bloody face. Bet it is, babe.’ 

Louis lets out a wordless noise of frustration. Now is not the time for Liam’s particular brand of humour. He breaks it off with an intake of breath when he reaches up to unwind his scarf. He reaches for the bottle of still water in the compartment on the back of the door and opens the first aid kit. Liam tightens his hands and Louis realises they’ve been bracketing his hips ever since Louis climbed on top of him. 

But they sit so nicely, Louis thinks, dazed himself. He didn’t notice them at all as they steadied him even when he was trying to figure out just how badly Liam had done in his head.

‘What’s this, then?’ Louis finds himself muttering softly. He can’t meet Liam’s eyes but he can wipe the blood off the left side of his face and eyebrows with a damp scarf that he’s never getting back, and hold a bandage to the gash with his other hand to stop the bleeding. ‘Didn’t know you wanted in on the apocalypse films nonsense, Li.’ 

Liam does the thing where he tightens his hands around Louis’s thighs again and Louis wishes he wouldn’t. It makes it really difficult for Louis to think of moving away ever again and it distracts him from his very important first aiding duties. Liam’s laughing quietly and leaning forward to balance his right cheekbone on Louis’s collarbone and Louis isn’t used to being the taller one. He swallows and tries not to think of how Liam’s mouth is right next to his Adam’s apple when he does it. 

‘Up, back,’ Louis grinds out, grudgingly, ‘How many fingers?’

Liam raises an eyebrow. ‘That’s rude, Louis.’ 

Louis lets out a breath and adds another finger, turning his hand around.

Liam rolls his eyes. ‘Still rude.’

The right answer, then. 

‘And that’s not even how you check for a concussion,’ Liam says, frowning. ‘I’m the first aider here, remember?’

‘Six weeks as a lifeguard six years ago doesn’t count, so just -’ Louis snaps. He balls up the scarf and throws it over the phone, which is _still_ showing an active call because some people can’t take a hint. He has a list of Liam’s ridiculous talents now. It’s three sides of A4 in bullet-point form; Louis despaired to find out that mouth-to-mouth was on it.

‘Tommo,’ Liam says into his neck, breath warm. ‘I’m all right. I just got in the car a bit quick is all.’ 

Louis could say a lot to that, starting with the blood on Liam’s head, neck and nicely-fitted white shirt and ending with _slow the fuck down before you hurt yourself properly,_ except, well, that’s just happened, hasn’t it?

It’s Louis’s last three nightmares come to life. It’s inevitable on Liam’s relentless schedule; the schedule that he won’t let Louis strip back despite Louis’s downright unprofessional rants on the subject. Louis can appreciate determination, but contrary to Liam's work out regime and his David Beckman physique, he's not a bloody machine. He needs actual sleep. 

Grunting, Louis sits back and balances on Liam’s thighs to tug at the hem of Liam’s shirt. Liam lifts a hand from Louis’s hip - the other curls tighter; Louis swallows - and his eyes are wide. He mutters more irritatingly sincere apologies, because he’s _Liam,_ so of course he’s apologising for getting handprints of his own blood across the stripes of Louis’s shirt. He looks at his hands like he’s only just realising how much blood there is; Louis was already aware of this, too aware. 

Louis watches Liam’s hand shake a little, so the only thing a good PA can do is to start unbuttoning Liam’s shirt for him to get the bulk of the blood far away. 

Louis did not anticipate this when he ate burnt toast with his tea this morning and threw his bags in the back of Paul’s car.

When it’s done, Louis helps Liam put on a spare t-shirt that’s kicking around Liam’s faded duffel bag. He’s always so annoyingly conscientious about the expensive clothes he’s loaned for photoshoots and events. Louis thinks it with a frown as he puts a palm across the back of Liam’s neck and rubs light circles into it, feels Liam shudder into the touch. 

That’ll be a massage Louis is booking in for one of those spare hours they don’t have in L.A. next week and after a qualified adult medical doctor clears Liam to get the flight there. Maybe the first class lounge has a masseuse, Louis thinks sourly. Maybe he can call a masseuse into the first class lounge if they don’t. 

‘Are you _fuck_ okay,’ Louis says calmly. He doesn’t move his hand from Liam’s upper back, between his shoulder blades. ‘Just don’t fall asleep til we’ve let a doctor take a look at you, you stubborn dickhead.’

Liam nods like he’s taking Louis very, very seriously, and Louis narrows his eyes at him, because he _better_ be. Louis means it. He’ll stamp his feet and lock Liam in his grotty shithole of a flat if he doesn’t let someone look at him; he doesn’t give a fuck if Liam misses getting on the flight to L.A. at this point. Louis nods back like he’s won - because he has, damn it. 

He alternates between mass emailing people who will see twitter and worry and texting their contact at the photoshoot. They’ll need that GP that they have on call to be called, they’ll need to know that Liam’s left side won’t be his best, and to make sure someone finds Liam (and Louis) replacement outfits. He manages to warn Gillian about the medic all right but his stomach churns on the words ‘cosmetic issue’ before he firmly reminds himself that this is _his actual job._

Louis doesn’t move off of Liam until Paul tells them they’re about to take the exit off the motorway and the paps are likely to catch up at the lights. The one ridiculous talent Liam doesn’t have is holding up his own bandage, it turns out, and Louis can reach it more easily from right in front of him. Liam mutters that he’s annoying and Louis ignores it. Liam doesn’t mean it, anyway. 

When Louis sits back on his own seat and puts on his seatbelt, he sits on top of his phone, which is face down on the seat, and he hears a dismal-sounding crack that sounds like the screen glass giving up the ghost. Liam slides his fist into Louis’s open palm and leaves it there while Louis traces figures of eight around his knuckles. 

They have six texts from Harry both before and after Louis’s warning text. The first batch are mainly punctuation - _??????; ?!?!?!, !!!!!?_ \- and then: _did that really happen? Li you look shit on twitter text me back._

Louis reads it out to Liam, who would have to move his hand or drop his bandage to steal his phone back, neither of which Louis will let him do. At least he looks worried that Louis _has_ his phone in the first place, so that’s probably a good sign. Liam keeps Louis’s emails set up on his just ready for Louis to sign in. It’s useful for when he trashes his own. 

‘Tell him it’s only a flesh wound,’ Liam says with as much drama as he can summon, slumping back against the seat. Fucking _actors._

‘I will smack the other side of your head so you’ve got a matching set,’ Louis replies sharply, but send the text anyway. 

*

When Liam's doctor arrives at the photoshoot, Louis drags him away from where the makeup artist is touching up the bruising around the cut - the rest is a problem for photoshop. He threatens to sit on Liam again while the doctor is checking him over and clearing him for their flight in four hours. Thankfully, he doesn’t need stitches or even the sci fi glue thing.

Louis wants the doctor to tell Liam he needs bedrest for the week no matter how much that will fuck with their schedule. Apparently all he needs to do is to make sure that if he goes to sleep Louis (or occasionally someone else, Louis supposes) makes sure he gets up every four hours for the next forty-eight hours. 

Liam nods along like he'll be on top of that, but Louis is already doing some mental reworking of their schedule. He's not even sure that Liam has slept for longer than three hours in the last month.

It's like he doesn't see the dark circles under his eyes, which Louis imagines he doesn't most of the time considering how much make up they put on him on sets.

Well, now he's got no excuse.

He's getting some rest even if Louis has to tie him to the bed. Which, actually-- _no_. Louis cuts that thought right off and focuses on the more immediate problem.

Because Louis is getting really fucking tired of Liam's need to do it all and handle everything himself. He's pretty much impervious to Hollywood's way of treating staff at this point, but if Liam doesn't take the training wheels off of their arrangement and let Louis do his actual job, Louis knows he's perilously close to taking it personally. 

It's like he's afraid he's insulting Louis by asking him to be mean to people. Any other day Louis would have found this precious; as precious as he found Harry and Liam's little attempt to act like Harry firing Louis and Liam hiring him in the same day was completely coincidental. Yes, of course he noticed. 

But honestly, it's just getting old, and dangerous. Liam just hurt himself trying to smile and nod at every pap that was pushing at him and Louis - and not letting Louis push back.

Something, he fears, is going to have to change. 

He never thought he'd ever question working for Liam, but a lesser person - a person who thinks of problems instead of challenges - might think that maybe they just weren't meant to work together. It was easier when they were just looking after Harry and teasing each other fumbling as friends most of the time. 

And that might be the thing, if he's honest. Louis considers Liam a friend now even though he doesn't always understand Liam. For an actor Liam blushes too easily. 

Maybe that’s why he thought this would be easy. Really great, even.

Because Harry is _also_ his friend and even when the studios and agency were poking at Harry to let Louis go (and Harry was trying so hard to not let Louis know about it) they still worked _so well_ together. 

It's different with Liam.

He's not really sure why.

(And maybe that's not quite true, but there's a professional line that is just not crossed, now that he’s working for Liam.)

Louis doesn’t know what to do except push harder, and he doesn’t know if that will work, this time. It’s never failed him before, as a strategy, but there’s never been anyone quite like Liam before, either. There’s a first time for everything, and apparently, the first time he doesn’t know what to do is going to be with Liam. 

Louis knows most PAs think he’s weird for client-hopping so much. Most of them stick with one or two people and see the thing through to the bitter, irrelevant end but Louis’s always been a fixer and problem-solver. Louis wonders if this is how they feel: possessive, proud, scared and a little bit _responsible,_ all at once.

It’s not just Liam being himself. It’s the way that all those hours of rushing to wait somewhere - nothing is more Hollywood than the phrase ‘hurry up and wait’ - disappear into ridiculous games and conversations Louis has never, ever had with a client before. And maybe part of that comes from Australia and hours (months) spent making sure Harry was literally growing up okay. 

Louis thought he was lucky enough, once, to be given a Harry. Harry, who can slouch into characters and switch from innocent big eyes next door to a glare that can strip paint, with longer and longer lines on his body to catch the camera on a wide angle shot like a sharp shard. 

But _Liam._

Liam is something else. 

His research and preparation for roles - it’s methodical, not method, Louis thinks. He had qualms at first - so much work should show like brushstrokes on a canvas, like pencil outlines peeking through, but all Louis could see on screen, all anyone can see onscreen, is the masterpiece. 

Most people see the bit that hangs in the museum at end of the day and everyone gushes over it. They don’t really think about the hours put into it with each stroke made to blend into the next like they’re one whole piece instead of a thousand small moments. 

But Louis has seen it all. He sees everything that Liam puts into a role and then watches him back it up with sheer talent.

It's why Louis believes in him. Maybe too much.

When Liam’s mum gave Louis roasted cheese and tea after Louis dropped off Liam for Christmas, she was kind enough to tell Louis _tons_ of embarrassing stories about Liam as a child. Including the one about Liam wanting an Oscar to play with instead of an Action Man; using the Action Man he got _as_ an Oscar. 

Louis had kicked his feet under the table and laughed hysterically while Karen acted out Liam Payne’s Oscar acceptance speech from when he was nine, then told Karen that Liam was clearly the second best actor in his own family. Liam had been mortified, more mortified than Louis had seen him in a whole year of working with him, and he’d been trying to make him blush more often than not. 

But he’d also been unapologetic, because he wanted to act forever and now he’s an actor, and Louis had loved that. He’d also realised with a start, as the words tripped out of his mouth, that he genuinely believed Liam would need a note of that speech for when he won one an Oscar someday. 

So Louis spends three days bouncing between fussing at Liam in the actual, physical world and worrying at the Liam Problem - he’s making a list - like a loose thread in his head. He expects he’s insufferable on all counts, but maybe if he moves quickly enough, he won’t think too hard and everything will be fine. 

(It doesn’t work.) 

*

Liam isn’t sure if it’s all the caffeine in the drinks or the mild buzz of the painkillers he’s been on for the last week. It might be both. He has a really great feeling about this meeting. His head is much better for having a slow week and a half since London.

The casting directors seem nice. Really nice. Alice and Alyssa are talking about the role he’d have; they’re throwing around words like _iconic_ and _canonical._ Yeah, Liam isn’t entirely sure what that really means, but he’s seen _TNG_ and bits of the original series. He’s pretty sure he could commandeer a week or two of Louis and Harry’s time for a DVD marathon ‘research’ session; Louis is _magic_ with his schedule. 

Still. He tries not to get too excited, even while he’s nodding and making notes and ignoring how Louis’s knuckles are turning white in the seat next to him. It’s a good thing that they’re talking numbers before he auditions for the director, he knows that. They’re sounding him out in a properly serious way. It would be a _big deal._ There’s no way this film isn’t the biggest thing that’s happening in 2009. 

And what _is_ Louis’s problem? Liam ignores the little coughs Louis is letting out, because there’s no way he has a cold - the temperature is in the mid-twenties outside - and continues to talk about universal peaceful exploration missions and Russian team players. 

Everyone shakes hands and says thanks for the coffee. Liam frowns at Louis’s full cup. He knows how Louis feels about coffee, but he usually drinks it out of some weird studio etiquette thing or maybe because he’s usually willing to inhale caffeine in any of its forms. 

‘Hey,’ Liam says, catching up with Louis in the production company’s corridor. Louis excused himself to the bathroom as soon as the meeting broke apart. Liam was surprised, not just because he’d barely drank anything during it, not even the sparkling water he likes, but because he usually wants to have a meeting debrief as soon as it’s done, and plan for the next one. 

When Louis comes back Liam is waiting, sitting in a plastic chair at the reception and enjoying how some people wave and say hello, but nobody makes a fuss. Being in the land of people more famous than him is a very weird sort of anonymity. Someone offers him a drink. He declines but does sign the guest book. It’s nice. 

‘I’d love a cuppa,’ Liam says, nudging Louis with his elbow. He’s discovered one of the easiest ways to get Louis to take a break is to imply Liam’s willing to have one himself. Louis does work so hard for him. 

Louis holds up a sad looking Blackberry with a dark, blank screen. ‘Yes, let’s,’ Louis agrees quickly, then pauses. ‘It fell off the shelf into the sink.’ 

Liam shakes his head. Louis’s agency must have taken out some special kind of insurance that covers Louis and phones; he dreads to think of the expenses Louis is putting in for with them if they _haven’t._

Except there are cracks in the husk that Liam doesn’t think water can do. If it’s more embarrassing than the sink thing, and Louis doesn’t want to talk about it, then Liam can go with that. Louis will tell him when he’s drunk, anyway. 

It’s like saving a laugh for a rainy day. 

‘Let’s head to mine, yeah?’ Louis asks and doesn’t meet Liam’s eyes as he opens the studio door. ‘I’d kill for a cup of proper Yorkshire. And we should talk.’ 

Liam lets out a breath; so Louis _does_ want to talk about the meeting. That’s good. Liam hopes he’s as excited about the film as he is. It’s not a comic book film, which might melt Louis’s brain and Liam might do one some day just to watch that happen, but it’s in the geek … spectrum. Which is pretty cool. And space! 

They had a conversation once about how a space holiday would be the best holiday _ever._ It was after they watched _The Fifth Element_ at the bit with the cruise ship sleeper bunks. 

Liam hopes Louis is quiet on the drive back to Louis’s place because of the audition. 

Except Louis makes them tea and sits the cup in front of Liam at the kitchen table the same way Liam’s mum had after he’d muttered, finally, that he was gay. 

This is not going to be _that_ conversation with Louis. Louis has tried, twice now, to interrogate him about anything Louis might ‘need to protect’ but Liam hasn’t been able to get the words out. Whatever Louis wants to talk about, Liam has a feeling it’s going to go much less well than that chat with his mum, with less hugging and affirmations of unconditional love. 

The problem there is that Liam realised he might want a few of those things from Louis right about the time he was _hiring_ Louis. 

So, yeah, he might not be having that conversation with Louis for a while, if ever. Their personal lives don't come up much in conversation. They're both always so busy.

And if Liam had gotten a flight back to where Louis was while panicking that Louis - master of biting people for no reason - might notice marks on Liam that he hadn’t put there himself it is no-one’s business but Liam’s own. 

Except Tom was always so respectful and careful about Liam’s necklines, before they decided they were better off as mates. He doubts Louis has ever been even though it’s kind of his job not to mark Liam up indecently. 

‘So I was looking at the diary,’ Louis starts, clutching his tea. His knuckles were white at the table in the meeting, they were white around the steering wheel and they’re white around his teacup now. Liam nods and takes a drink of his own tea. 

'You shouldn't do it.'

‘Shouldn’t do what?’ Liam asks, looking up from where he’s intently focused on heaping as much sugar onto the spoon - ugh, spoons - as he can. It’s their compromise. Liam can pile the sugar as high as he likes so long as he uses a spoon and only takes a maximum of five sugars. Lou’s started buying in brown sugar rather than white to try to get him onto less sugars in his tea - something about dental insurance. But Liam’s starting to suspect Louis uses ‘insurance’ as shorthand for _I’m right, don’t think about it too hard._

‘The film,’ Louis says and stares at him. Liam should make him take a week back in the UK for a break before the next shoot. His eyes have dark circles under them. 

Liam sips his tea, then pauses. ‘You mean-?’

Louis nods and pushes a hand through his hair. It sticks up all ways. ‘Next year is mad already. Back to back shoots all bloody year plus press from this lot. The year after is looking like more of the same, knowing you. You do this and 09 won’t be anything _but_ this, and I’ve been going over the diary since the audition, and I can barely fit in the _plane_ to get to the screen test, never mind the shoot.’ 

Liam sits his cup down. ‘Well, this is my job, Louis. I work.' - 'Too hard,' Louis mutters low; Liam ignores him. - 'Most people only get like, twenty days a year off.’

Louis pushes his chair back from the table and stands up with a noise, then turns back to Liam and leans back against the worktop edge. ‘Liam, that’s such bollocks. Most people get _weekends._ Do you know what they do on weekends? _Watch films._ You’re working on everybody’s work week then dancing inside their fucking televisions on their leisure time to boot. You can _pick one.’_ Louis gives him a look that’s entirely too sincere. ‘You need to pick one.’

Liam slides a hand across the work surface and slips Louis’s brand new phone into his back pocket. They just bought it on the way home and Louis did the set up in the passenger seat. Louis is being an idiot, and he’s wrong, but that’s no reason to let terrible things happen to a nice red Blackberry. 

Louis will be reasonable and see his point in a minute. 

‘I’m hardly working all the time, I get like, a month and a half off between shoots,’ Liam reasons. ‘Between the films all I do is go to parties and talk to people.’

’Talk to people in meetings. About _work,’_ Louis grinds out, head falling forward and fists lightly bumping off the cupboard door behind it. ‘You and Harry go to the awards shows _for work._ Fashion editorials. Meetings with the bank - yes, I know about those, of course I do, give me some credit - meetings with the studio, _cancelling_ meetings with estate agents, the charity stuff.’

‘So now I shouldn’t do charity stuff?’ Liam feels his voice rise on that. 

Fuck, the charity stuff is why he bothers with half of the rest of it. If he has to do five hours of boring promo crap for Nike (though he does approve of the _just do it_ tagline) to do two evenings at anti-bullying events meeting kids and helping promote merch he helped design, well, he would do a _lot_ more promo crap to get to do that and make a difference. 

And Louis knows fine well _why_ he would do that. That’s one secret Liam gave him early on.

Louis's voice matches his without any qualms but his eyes keep flicking to the red mark on Liam’s forehead. Liam tugs the front of his hair like it’s at all long enough to cover the gash that’s mostly scabbed up and on the way to healing. 'No, I'm saying you shouldn't book the charity stuff when you have a four am call time and haven't slept at a proper hour in a week.'

'I sleep!' Liam stands. His mug rattles on the table and he doesn't even care if it falls and breaks. Lou's rug deserves it, it's so bloody ugly. And Louis's sneer isn't that attractive either.

‘You slept when a doctor told you to and they _added_ an hour to what you normally sleep, don't think I don't know. It's my fucking job to know!’ Louis is properly shouting now. Liam hasn’t been on the receiving end before but he’s not feeling like backing down. ‘Christ, Liam, you're not a bloody Terminator and you know that you shouldn't be a bloody Russian ensign, either. You're not even Russian!'

Liam feels his fist clench around the table. He _hates_ being told what films he can and can’t do, what parts he looks like and fits. 

He’s got a whole awards cabinet that says he can do things that nobody thought he could. 

Well, safety deposit box, the cabinet is for when he gets his flat sorted. ‘I can pick my own films, thank you very much, and if I want to do this one -’

‘Not if you need a fucking time turner to get through the year, it’s not!’ Louis interrupts and rolls his eyes. ‘Liam, for Christ’s sake, would you _listen?’_

‘Not if you’re going to tell me what I can’t do! You’re not my mother, Louis!’ 

‘You’re not exactly listening to her, either! You’ve not had time off when that timezone is awake to phone home since we got back to L.A.!’

‘Well, it’s not like you’ve been charming to everyone we’ve met lately!’ Liam replies, pushing off the worktop. 

‘It’s not my job to be nice to people! Including you!’ Louis’s voice is getting higher and higher, and Liam opens his mouth to reply -

Except Liam’s back pocket starts ringing and it’s _getcha-getcha-head-in-the-game_ from _High School Musical,_ which apparently Louis has set as his ringtone until he has time to personalise everyone’s ringtone again. 

Liam pulls out the phone and sees Harry’s caller ID. He holds out the phone and looks across the room to Louis, who feels very far away all of a sudden. The ringtone keeps going and starts again while Louis looks him over, as if he’s never seen Liam before, as if they aren’t _friends,_ and Liam feels a white hot guilt. Louis didn’t even hear what he was about to say. Louis is looking at him like he knew what Liam was going to say anyway. 

The call cuts off and starts again. 

Louis stalks over to Liam and takes the phone. ‘I’ll be a minute. He probably wants to know what TV to marathon next.’

Liam nods as Louis leaves the room and tries not to read too much into Louis shutting the door behind him. It doesn’t work. 

*

Harry stumbles in from the set of _The Road_ and calls Louis with his hands shaking around his phone. His old phone was better. It was heavier. It didn’t feel like it could break as easily as one of Lou’s Crackedberries. The line is dead, so he checks his texts and sees _nu fone fml sim died too_ and a number. He dials it instead after copying it onto a fucking _takeaway menu (Louis, stop wrecking phones)_ and thumbing it into the keypad with shaking hands. 

It takes Louis an age to pick up.

‘What if I’m not any good at it really? What if they fire me? We haven’t been on set that long, they could still recast-’

Harry knows he could be speaking more quietly. Or not shouting into the receiver. 

_‘Haz?’_ Louis sounds disorientated and sharp. 

‘We had to do about sixty takes of a scene today. It was horrible. It was my fault about forty nine times, too.’ 

‘You counted? Of course you did.’ Louis mutters a harsh word and Harry hears a bitten off _I don’t know, yet, do I? Fuck, this conversation isn’t ov-_ and a door closing. 

Harry holds onto his trailer counter with one hand and leans his forehead against the cupboard door, pushing the phone against his head and trying to take deep breaths. 

‘So that’s nine times it wasn’t your fault, you prat,’ Louis says on the other end of the phone, a door closing (or opening?) in the background. 

‘Eleven,’ Harry corrects absently, toying with the mug on the draining rack. It's nondescript and beige. He wonders if it's odd that he suddenly misses his mum and Gemma and their collection of Muppet mugs. 

‘Well clearly you can manage a bit of maths as well as this acting bullshit,’ Louis shoots back, surprising a laugh out of Harry. ‘Was it a stunt, love?’

‘Not even,’ Harry replies, sucking in another breath. He doesn’t need Louis to tell him to breathe or to count out the numbers, but it’s nice that he does. Really nice. ‘Not giggling, either.’

Louis doesn’t ask what it was if it wasn’t either of the two usual downfalls, just mutters into the phone, then says _thanks, cheers, yeah,_ in another direction. 

Harry mutters a ‘hmm?’ into the phone.

‘Nothing to worry about, you,’ Louis replies, ‘Liam was being a saint and bringing me a tea, weren’t you?’

Harry huffs a laugh into the phone and breathes again. ‘Miss you, Lou. This is hard. I mean, I know- yeah.’ 

_I know us not working together was my bright idea,_ Harry wants to say. _I know I’m being stupid._ Except it’s like the words are physically stuck in his throat. He’s made friends on set. Nine days out of ten he’s the kind of professional that producers say nice things about. Even more so now Louis and he aren’t in the same set so much. 

‘It’s your first big lead role,’ Louis says soothingly, and fuck, if Louis is being soothing instead of borderline mean-

‘Oh, fuck,’ Harry chokes out, ‘Insult me, quick, I can’t.’

‘Shit, Curly, I’m-’ Louis says. He sounds worried then there’s a sharp breath on the other end of the line and the sound of the phone changing hands. 

‘You’re - you can’t walk in a straight line without tripping up and you have silly hair,’ Liam’s voice says grimly as if he’s pronouncing Harry’s prison sentence in that deadpan he loves so much. 

Harry chokes out a harsh laugh and hugs the phone with both hands. He folds over and falls back so his hip hits the other worktop in the tiny, narrow trailer kitchen. 

‘Lou’s sisters doodle better than some of your tattoos and you can’t - I mean, you - you bake with too much sugar and it’s me saying that when I take six’ - _’Five! You take five!’ - ‘in my tea.’_

Harry can actually feel his eyes stinging. He doesn’t know how one shoot and one press tour means he can miss two people this much, but fuck, he does. He wants to stop crying and stop laughing and maybe even stand up straight to tell Liam that, but he just _can’t._

_’That’s not even an insult, Payner, oh my God, you are ridiculous.’_

_’Oh, I think I made him cry, what have I-’_

_‘Haz, talk to me, you there?’_

‘Yeah, yeah, I am,’ Harry manages and sits on his trailer floor. The lino is peeling where it meets the bottom of the worktops. He should eat something. He’s been feeling sick for days, right in his stomach, and even the burgers with onions and the other canteen stuff that he usually loves have been sending him right back to the portacabins to throw up. 

‘When are you back on set?’

Harry shrugs himself up and swallows. ‘Shit, what time is it there, where are you, did I-?’

‘Haz, it’s the same timezone. We’re good. And you know we don’t give a shit if it’s three in the morning.’ 

Harry shouldn’t relax into Louis’s voice when he’s swearing blue murder like he only does when he’s strung out to fuck but he does. 

*

Louis thumbs the call off and stares at the phone. He sees the mug at his left hand and reaches for it but Liam’s hand closes around his wrist - all the way around it - first. 

‘It’s not as hot as you like,’ Liam says quietly without meeting his eyes. ‘Let me get new ones?’

Louis could use a minute, too. 

He checks his phone because he’s sitting still for more than five seconds and that’s just what he does when he has more than a few seconds to spare. In case he’s missing anything. 

Apparently, what he’s been missing is Harry having a near nervous breakdown on a film set. 

He doesn’t want to feel guilty about that; he’d never have made it through Chad’s rehab stints or any of his other clients having spectacular fuckups in the national press after they’d parted ways otherwise. 

Except he just plain _does._ He wants to phone Anne and Gemma, for fuck’s sake, like he’s still Harry’s. If he’s fighting with Liam and Harry’s having a breakdown, what the fuck good is he? 

Liam slips back into the room and it’s really something that none of the photoshoots seem to get; how lean, how quick he is. Louis noticed it first, before he’d even really taken in how tall he must be, back when he was floating like a butterfly in the training montages in _The Parry._

‘So you’re going to Vancouver?’

And shit, Louis did promise to get on a plane. Harry had sounded shit and Louis hadn’t been thinking; he’d just wanted to be there. 

‘Not because of you,’ he says before he can think otherwise, belatedly realising that it's really absolutely true, because there’s a kick in his stomach that tells him so.

‘Not because of -’ Liam looks awkward, running his hand through his hair and eyeing it when it falls back down against his forehead. Louis wonders if he will have cut it all off again when he gets back from Vancouver. He’s been tugging at it like he wants to cut it for weeks. Louis will call his London barber before he gets on the plane. ‘Not because of us? Us fighting? I hate fighting.’

Except Louis seems to have gotten over-invested again. He hears the _what ‘us’?_ in his head and makes a sharp effort to not snap it back out loud, and he never, ever cares about not fighting back usually. 

‘If you weren’t on set I’d say come with me,’ Louis says instead, tries for a smile. ‘You’re good at Harry. Not many people are.’

Liam blinks and looks up. He stills the hands he’s been twisting together since they started shouting at opposite ends of a rented kitchen. ‘If I weren’t on set I’d go. You’re crap at looking after yourself when you’re looking after him.’ And for a second it’s like they have their footing back. They’re so much better at being a united front for Harry than they are at giving in.

‘So are you,’ Louis replies with a quirk of his eyebrow, because Liam is. He should know that.

There’s a beat where somebody should say something. Neither of them do. The sound of the stove-top kettle whistling beats on the bedroom door. 

‘Book your flight,’ Liam says. He stands slowly and very deliberately squeezing Louis’s shoulder. It’s not like him to reach out first so Louis takes the message, he does, and he’s trying to remember why they were shouting. Everything he was mad about seems to have disappeared and that’s never happened before. Louis knows that. He knows he’s an absolute shit to fight with. ‘We’ll sort the rest out when you get back.’

Louis nods. He should probably pack except he’s already packed. All of his shit is in boxes in his new L.A. apartment around them, he hasn’t been back long enough to unpack it, and all he’s going to be able to take are the two bags he brought with him. Liam’s flying to London in the middle of the night; he knows how to lock the place up. 

There’s nothing for him to do but go. 

*

Louis lands in Vancouver, pulls on two hoodies against the cold and tries to phone Harry, after firing off a quick text to tell Liam he's arrived okay. 

He gets a quick _kk lemme no how he is_ in response, while he's waiting on his bags. Except his bags, and a car, are waiting on _him_ , because Liam got him upgraded to first class - as he found out at the airport - and there's a car waiting. Louis doesn't know how to feel about that. He's never met anyone who orders him cars and brings him tea in the middle of an argument. Anyone who isn't paid to do it, anyway. 

The taxi costs a small fortune. Louis knows this because he expenses mileage and transport on a regular basis, so he can feel the meter building like a dripping tap. Before Louis can get his wallet out Harry stumbles out past the security on the gate and throws notes at the driver. 

He's grinning at Louis, but his arms are shaking around him, and Louis is officially worried. He tugs Harry's arm up over his shoulder and grabs him by the waist; Harry on a good day needs physical contact to thrive the way plants need sunshine, and this is clearly not a good day. 

'When are you on set? You never answered,' Louis asks, thumb rubbing circles into Harry's side. Louis is ready and willing to bare his teeth at anyone who looks at them between the gate and the trailer, but a few people wave, and no one takes pictures. Harry pushes open the trailer door and tugs Louis up the little steps. 

'We're having another go at the scene at five,' Harry says once they get inside, hand in his hair and wincing. Louis deliberately doesn't wince, but he wants to. Having to reshoot in addition to the schedule isn't a little thing and it's already 3am. Everyone hates longer days, everyone hates mucking with the schedule; film sets, in Louis's experience, are military operations where everyone cries on cue. 

'Love, I could bullshit you with some of my finer jokes -'

Harry snorts.

'-or you could tell me what's so bloody hard about this one,' Louis says bluntly. 'We both know you can act.'

The 'no matter what the press says' goes unsaid. No one's been particularly harsh this week, Louis knows. He never did disable those google alerts and email forwards but Harry is such an internet child and Louis knows what he can find if Harry puts his mind to it. 

Louis pushes his hands together and Harry fusses with tea for them both because everyone in Louis's life fails to understand how assisting someone personally is supposed to work. 

Harry passes him a mug of something masquerading as tea the same way the end of the world is masquerading as Canada. They're clearly working on an all-nighter the likes of which Harry is missing by skipping the uni experience so Louis downs the tea like a shot and gestures for another. Harry rolls his eyes but moves his lanky frame to the kitchen and pours the spare water into the mug like he'd expected it. 

'It's a straight-to-camera thing,' Harry says slowly, chewing every word before he spits it out. 'There's just me and George, we're filming half of this conversation I'm supposed to have with my dad’s hologram after I find out he really died in the war before the film even starts.' 

Louis nods. He knows daddy issues. He might have once gotten a transatlantic flight in the vein of saying _sod that_ to daddy issues of his own; thank _fuck_ his mum and sisters had understood. Looking back on it, he knows it was a silly thing to do, but he was a silly boy. It's worked out all right and he still likes those tattoos. 

‘Fuck, Haz, you’re not about to let anyone down, you’re far too good for that,’ Louis says sharply, realising that Harry’s been piling half a film industry onto his shoulders, and apparently, his character’s crisis is too close for comfort. _Actors._ Actors who think they’re Atlas, propping up the whole sodding world. Louis could do without them. He could. 

It breaks something in Harry and for the second time in one night Louis has the horrible privilege of hearing Harry Styles cry. At least this time he can hug him until his arms hurt and Harry’s squirming in them, which is better than he did with Liam earlier on, but he’s trying not to think about that.

‘All right, Lou, I can-’

‘No, I got on a _plane_ , so you will accept my hugs, do you hear me?’

‘Really, gonna need a tissue for the, um, crying thing and my nose is a mess.’

‘You’re delicate! I must hug you,’ Louis says, as obnoxious as he can, and continues to cling onto Harry like a denim-clad koala. Usually it’s the other way around. Harry’s laughing and fake-trying to claw his way free, so he’s doing something right. 

When Harry takes a nap just before four am on Louis’s shoulder, with his knees pulled up and knuckles white, Louis texts Liam. Just to let him know. 

Also because he’s got a flight to catch to the UK and he should be awake and in the car in L.A.. It hits Louis that Liam sent him away without a word about how they’re going to manage _Liam_ while Louis keeps Harry from shaking to bits. He’s a strange and wonderful boy, but Louis knew that, and that kind of uncaring attitude towards his own maintenance was what they were fighting about in the first place. 

Louis is confident he can keep up his nagging about little things like food and sleep from a distance. He’s done it with other clients before, when he worked out of the office with multiple people’s schedules, he’s just never really used that working model with Liam before. 

But of course, they _are_ fighting, which Louis keeps deliberately forgetting. So Louis settles for sending Liam a picture of Harry frowning in his sleep and touching Louis’s furry collar like a good luck charm. He’s sleeping, which is an improvement. Louis refrains from adding his usual witty commentary. 

_sleepy haz thats good rite?_

Liam replies quickly enough that Louis knows he’s awake already and might have been waiting on word from Vancouver. Maybe he’s just hoping that bit. 

Louis looks at the text and hovers over the send button but either Liam sent him knowing he wouldn’t come back until it was all right for him to leave Harry or he didn’t. If he didn’t he’s not the bloke Louis thinks he is and Haz is thin in his jeans with one panic attack behind him that probably isn’t his last. Louis knows better than to think a single hug’s fixed all that. 

_Yeah. Might need to stick about up here. What do you think?_

The reply is instant, not even enough time for the screen to go dark, like Liam’s already had the thought.

_as long as u need. u foning anne n gemma or shld i?_

Louis lets out a breath and looks at the time display.

_Catch your plane numpty!!!!! I can phone_

*

The plane and car rides feel strangely silent without Louis trying to get him to sleep and to eat. He thinks he’s supposed to be grateful for the quiet. With the silence that comes with Louis being away Liam finds it harder to sleep than before on the plane. Everything feels heavier, slower. The flight back to London is only ten hours and Liam feels each of those hours like days.

He realises they didn't talk about when Louis would come back to London after he got Harry sorted. _If_ he would come back - but he’s trying not to think about it like that. About why Louis probably skipped happily off to Vancouver. Okay, that’s unfair, because it was clear that Harry needed someone and while Liam is good at Harry, Louis is the best at Harry. 

He’s also trying not think about the words he almost said but it feels like they were said anyway, heavy in the air between them. Two hours into the flight he makes himself go to sleep - it’s easy, he is exhausted - and misses the smug smile that should be there with him.

Four hours after he lands in London Louis still hasn't phoned. Or messaged. 

Harry, however, is tweeting pics and messaging Liam about Louis complaining about the lack of proper tea in Canada. The fact that Louis doesn't message or email Liam to FedEx some Yorkshire over hurts more than Liam would like, but he's very much ignoring those feelings.

*

Louis wakes up hours after Liam lands in London and Harry’s call time in Vancouver. He’s got a crick in his neck the likes of he hasn’t had in ages because it implies that he was asleep for longer than four hours. 

Harry’s thrown a blanket over him and slipped out into the early morning without him. It makes Louis wonder how strung out he must have looked himself, if Harry couldn’t be arsed to wake him up from their mutual nap pile on the couch. 

Then he freezes all over and grabs his phone - _please be in one piece, please have signal, oh shit_ \- and sends Liam a text, email and BBM message with his itinerary details. He - _they_ \- had been so worried about Harry that they hadn’t even talked about remote working. 

Louis has phone calls to make, clearly. He doesn’t want to think about how easily Liam let him go, so he does that instead. 

After the lovely lad on the desk in L.A. buzzes him through to the department where the support teams and remote PAs work, Louis winces. Silently. Barely. Through gritted teeth. 

‘Max George!’ he says, jauntily, wishing he’d thought to brew a cup of pathetic lukewarm tea to see him through the phone call. In his defence, he was in a rush and he assumed someone else would pick up. Max is _that person_ in the office, the one Louis - and everyone he knows who has ever worked in an office - never, ever wants to be. Max never picked up the phone when he was at the same collection of desks as Louis - before Louis’s multiple promotions - when it was supposedly a joint responsibility, so Louis knows there’s almost certainly no one else he could talk to instead. 

Bloody fantastic. 

Louis is above making fun of someone for having two first names. 

Not very far above it in Max George’s case, because Max George outed himself as a willfully ignorant fuck the day he described Louis’s scarf as ‘a bit gay, no?’ Louis spilled his lukewarm coffee on his pastel-trousered leg and asked if it was ‘a bit wet, no?’ a day later, an hour before Max was meeting a client. 

‘I need Shona and Paul in London on the next plane,’ Louis says brightly, talking over Max asking ‘how is Liam’ like he gives a shit. 

(He doesn’t. He tried to claim he could take Liam in a boxing match before Louis was assigned to him; Louis would like to see that since he’s the one currently corresponding with Liam’s trainer. He’d bring popcorn, in fact.) 

Rule one of staff club: PAs don’t ask how you are, they ask how your client is. 

‘Shona’s in Berlin with the Family -’

Louis doesn’t care about that, nor Max’s overly-familiar references to Will and Jada Pinkett Smith’s movements. Will and Jada love Liam and even say hi to Louis. They probably only remember him as ‘that idiot who made our kids laugh by doing the worm with Harry Styles that one time in 2006.’ 

‘They have a small army of very good people. If they really need Shona, put me in touch with the lead of their onsite team and I’ll work out who I can send in her place but I need Shona in London on the next flight,’ Louis repeats flatly. He’s been promoted enough times at the agency that Max is stalling just to be a dickhead; he can’t actually say no. He knows Louis is calling to delegate logistics, not to discuss.

‘I can call the London office and see who’s on the ground there,’ Max says slowly, like this is a negotiation. Louis rolls his eyes and starts the kettle. 

‘Still not a request, Max,’ Louis replies with the infinite patience of the managerial level of the agency. He’s probably not helping his staff inter-relationships but this is why he’s rarely in the fucking office. 

‘It’s lovely that you feel Liam Payne needs two people to replace you while you run off back to Styles,’ Max says distractedly. Louis bares his teeth at the phone and splashes water into the cup somewhat aggressively. He hears the sound of fingers on a keyboard but Max _could_ be typing ‘adshkufhndsghghlghlf’ just to fuck with him. 

‘He does and I’m not running off anywhere,’ Louis catches himself before he gets dragged into a slanging match with Max in which he explains himself pointlessly. That’s a first. Must be the shit tea. ‘Now book Shona a flight or start packing your desk into a box.’ 

*

‘So what’s Liam doing just now?’

‘London, on set, about to have lunch, I messaged Shona about the sandwich place he likes.’

Harry laughs, which startles Louis, who glares at him over his glasses. 

‘I think I liked you better when you were crying on me, Hazza.’

‘Oh really?’ Harry asks, then bounces away because Tiggers bounce, or go to film post-apocalyptic battles.

Louis continues to work on his laptop. This time, in peace. 

It turns out the studio has had Harry on an interim team for eight months, because apparently, they thought once they got him on set, they’d have time to sort themselves out. Louis could kill them. Instead, he’s exchanging horrified emails with Harry’s lovely agents in the representation department at Syco - who also had no idea what was going on in Vancouver, because Harry’s got his own bit of stubbornness going on - and _fixing_ it.

The tone from Perdita at Syco is equal parts relieved and amused that Louis is back running Harry’s affairs - temporarily. It’s temporary, Louis reminds himself, and checks Liam’s twitter and his Liam emails just to remind himself again. Liam has retweeted a picture of himself shadow-boxing with a fan in his favourite London branch of Subway - of course he has, Louis is not endeared by this, he’s not - and told millions of people that he’s a fancy candle. Business as usual, then.

Harry comes back with an awful lot of fake blood between his teeth and down one side of his face. He’s such a cheery apocalyptic hero, the fucker. Louis chooses not to comment about how ridiculous his grin is in his battle make up, but it might be because he’s remembering Liam with actual blood on the side of his face in the car, and he needs to get his head together.

‘What’s Liam doing _now?’_ Harry asks, because he’s annoying, and sits in the director’s chair next to Louis, feet kicking in Louis’s peripheral vision. 

‘Still fucking other people,’ Louis grinds out around the earphone bud between his teeth. 

When he turns, Harry’s eyes are the size of saucers. 

Louis feels mean, except he _totally_ does not. Harry’s a menace when he’s emotionally stable and utterly deserved that. The director has wonderful timing and drags Harry back to the set muttering, while Louis texts Liam to ask how filming for his two-episode arc in _Secret Diary of a Call Girl_ is going. Professionally. Warm but distant. He can do this. 

Except Liam is excited about meeting someone who’s traveled in the TARDIS; enough so that he’s forgotten they’re supposed to be fighting, too. Louis considers that they might be utterly crap at not talking to each other. It’s not that Louis can’t freeze people out, but when Liam replies to his cautious messages, he can’t stop his hands from texting right back. 

_rose tyler is sooooooo nice seriously u wld luv her_

_told her u cried at doomsday and she sed i had to hug u for her_

_oh we hav 2 go bk 2 set. its closed set so i hav to leave my fone w/ shona l8er!!!_

The crack in Louis’s screen that’s been inching in since he dropped it on a concrete floor in LAX expands slightly when he clenches his fist around the handset. Closed set meaning sex scenes. Wonderful. Just peachy. 

_My name is Louis Tomlinson, and this is the story of how I died._

*

Liam puts the phone down and tries not to reread the sent text messages. It’s not that he doesn’t want Louis to think he’s trying too hard to sound normal, but he doesn’t want Louis to think he’s trying too hard either. He’s using all of his nerves on the shoot so he doesn’t have any left to spare for working out the correct level of non-fighting in text messages with Louis right now.

It’s weird. It’s not that he’d forgotten he was filming this one - _Billie Piper_ \- but he hadn’t remembered it much, either. It had been far away in the diary for so long that _Secret Diary_ filming feels like it’s snuck up on him; he feels naked on set, physically _and_ metaphorically. 

The thing is: Liam is good at acting. He does research. It’s not that it’s easy for him, but when he works at it, the work pays off. He has a whole career to show for it. But in his head, when he signed up for this because David said that his mate Billie - yes, that Billie, Liam - had needed another actor for the first series, he’d had it in his head he’d have Louis with him on set. 

Louis is always with him on set. He’s got a sixth (seventh?) sense for when Liam’s nervous about a scene, too, and makes the worst jokes to keep him from overthinking it. Except Louis is with Harry in Vancouver and Liam’s psyching himself out of a sex scene. 

It’s not even his first sex scene. (That was in a car, when he was shorter. He doesn’t know how he’d manage without pins and needles now.) 

But Billie is so lovely, and she’s said, ‘We just try to have a laugh, yeah? Let the editing people put it together after we do.’ Then she’d winked.

Except Liam’s not feeling as great about faking it as he usually does. He never wanted to be put in a box and he hates being told what he can and can’t do, but maybe he should’ve refreshed his memory for this one and watched some porn while he was stuck in a hotel in L.A. anyway after knocking his head. (With Louis checking on him every three hours for four days, because he’s a mother hen, and Liam wishes watching porn in the same room as Louis was the weirdest thing they’ve ever done. Sadly, it really isn’t.)

Liam isn’t even sure what his character’s plot is all about, really, except that there’s some discussion of his character not having much experience and wanting to learn things so that he’s good at sex, which is sort of sweet, really. He knows it can’t be too important, he’s just providing some Hollywood glitter for the first series in exchange for getting grown up points on his CV for working with adult material.

Liam gulps because Louis is letting herself out of the closed set and closing the door behind her; Lou’s the costume designer for the whole series, and some of the lingerie she’s been working with is, well. Liam’s no prude but some of the screenshots she’s been emailing to Louis look baffling and complicated. (He hopes the bra is easy to take off. He hopes it so much. Maybe he should have practiced on a mannequin.) 

Louis gives him two thumbs up and walks on. Liam hands his phone to the runner - Shona - and takes his dressing gown off at the door of the set. Shona is utterly professional but less off-putting than some of the team the agency’s sent out before; Liam’s team largely works at head office in L.A., and Liam’s slightly worried that he only finds them cold because they’re not Louis. Shona’s the warmest of the lot: she’s early thirties and funny, but seems to know when Liam’s trying to get his head together for a scene, too. (How she knew his usual Subway in London, he doesn’t know. Maybe the agency has a file for this stuff.)

Billie is sitting on the bed, lounging in an utterly casual position. Liam takes his cues from her and jumps up, too, just in his boxers, and sits cross-legged. Billie starts a poking war with his ribs and Liam laughs, feeling the breath go out of his lungs. Maybe it’s going to be all right. 

It doesn’t go all right. 

Liam’s flashing back to the bit in _Wimbledon_ where Kirsten Dunst’s character knows the day will go badly because her morning routine is off. He doesn’t want to be suspicious but he can’t settle into the scene for the life of him. 

Billie pats his thigh when they take a break and moves off to the tea stand at the side. 

Liam picks at the sheets and lets out a sigh. It’s not that he’s doing badly - just not as well as they want it to go. He and Billie have met before: there’s talk of a third episode if these two go well. It’s open-ended and they arranged to do the second episode because Billie and Liam had such good chemistry in the read through. He slumps back against the headboard, hands loose at his side. 

Billie laughs at the side of the room, it’s so bright, and he can hear her talk about how she’s got her mate Niall as director for next episode. The name is familiar for some reason, and she’s so lovely. He wants to enjoy working with her, in her element, but he can’t stop thinking of another bright, lovely laugh, even when the director yells _action_ and Billie jumps into the bed with a grin. 

Billie puts a hand under his chin and tugs his face towards her, repeats _it’s all right, love, we’ll have a laugh_ and Liam gets the feeling she isn’t talking just to his shy uni student character. 

Something in the gesture is familiar, like a swoop in his stomach, and as Billie presses her mouth to his for the camera, it clicks. 

Except when Louis had his hands on Liam’s face, there was a road, not a bed, underneath them, and his thighs were like iron around Liam’s. His fingers had been cooler against Liam’s temple and his eyes had been sharp with worry. It had only been the two of them and the impression of Paul in the front seat, not a room full of people dealing with lighting and body cues.

Liam swallows a sharp breath and slips his hands up to Billie’s sides after nodding to her, waiting on her return nod, and pulls her onto his lap so her thighs are on either side of his, pushing his hands up into her hair. It’s not the same - he never got his hands into Louis’s eternally stupid hair, would have regretted it when he got whatever styling crap Louis uses all over his knuckles if he had - but it’s - it’s something, all right. 

‘Clasp’s in front,’ Billie breathes against his neck, and Liam lets himself go with the scene at last. 

* 

Three weeks and too many meetings later Liam is leaving his new endorsement meeting and all he wants is to go home and have a cuppa. 

God, how did he do these without Louis, Liam doesn’t remember. 

He hates how it feels like a limb has been cut off in these last few weeks. He’s become so used to Louis’s presence and his little subtle cues on when to push forward or not push at all to get what they need, because Liam is a good actor but he’s rather shit at reading people. 

Louis can read a room in under a minute and can be scarily precise with his sharp interruptions when he can tell (even better than Liam, though he’s learning) when everyone is starting to ask too much of him. Liam hesitates to just say no. 

Louis never hesitates. He barrels people over in a blink of an eye, especially when they’re trying to barrel over Liam. 

It’s partly why Liam has Louis in meetings that he’s not even supposed to be in. 

Thankfully, nobody has really questioned this ever since Louis started working for Liam. They all probably see it as Liam’s one Eccentric Actor Demand. Liam’s never corrected anyone about this misconception, partly because he’s not much of one for diva demands, so he figures he’s allowed this one: he’s allowed Louis. 

And during this meeting Liam had needed him there to barrel over everyone. It’s quite possible it’s not the first time this week he’s had this thought. He just misses having Louis at his side. Professionally. 

He’s making his way to the reception area where Shona - lovely, lovely Shona, who is not Louis and he really doesn’t hold it against her, honest, because she always brings him his favourite Subway - is waiting for him. They have one more meeting and at this point Liam just wants to get to it as quick as possible so he can go home to the flat Louis hates and nope, he’s not thinking about that. The flat is fine. His bed is fine and he wants to spend the next five hours before his morning work out in it, asleep. 

Shona is on the phone when he steps out of the elevator and he’s about to step forward when he hears who she's speaking to. 

‘I don’t know yet, he’s still in the meeting. I think it literally just finished four seconds ago, I’ll let you know when I know- Yes, promise, Louis- And yes, I’ll make sure he tells me everything. Of course.’

Liam stops. Shona has her back to him and the glare from the window is keeping her that way. Eavesdropping is rude. But. Louis _is_ his PA. And they are talking about him. 

Louis is calling to check up on Liam. 

And they haven’t talked - properly talked - in about two weeks since they exchanged about two words when Harry called Liam. Harry had wanted to tell him about meeting Tom Welling when Louis got him onto the Smallville set; he went on about it for about twenty minutes, most of it about was how handsome and sweet Tom was and less about _anything_ to do with Superman. Which granted, it was Harry. Liam’s not sure he's even seen the Animated Series. 

It would have probably been better if Louis had talked to him.

He said he going to a meeting about Harry’s team and Liam’s sure Louis wouldn’t lie to him. 

Suddenly he wishes he could hear Louis’s side of the conversation with Shona.

‘One more meeting for the day then I’m sending him home with Paul, yes, he's already handled the grocery list you sent...’ there’s a pause and then Shona’s voice goes a little high. ‘No, I didn’t disable his alarm clock! He’s not a baby, Louis... Yes, well, you’re not that much older yourself. Should I be disabling your alarm clock, too? I know your hours. I do know the time difference when I get your emails.’ 

Liam’s not sure why this is making him smile. Not sure why his chest feels all warm and fluttery and he still misses Louis, but now it feels less like Louis is gone and more like he’s just somewhere Liam can’t see. 

Shona snorts and he thinks now is a good a time as any to make himself known. He steps forwards, making his footsteps sound heavier as he walks the tiled floor, and calls out Shona’s name like he just stepped off the elevator. When Shona starts a little, turning, he smiles. He’s an actor for a reason.

She nods, whispers quickly into the phone and thumbs it off, without even batting an eye. ‘Ready to go? One more, then home. There’s a sandwich waiting for you in the car.’ 

She really is excellent at her job.

*

There’s a four am call time and Harry should be napping. Then Louis bounced off the sofa when his Blackberry pinged and, really, sometimes Harry really doesn’t get Louis. Or Liam. 

They might not be _talking_ but they still email and text each other every bloody hour. It’s distracting. He’s supposed to be focusing on his script. Louis is still being stingy with the details of what happened and Harry doesn’t really mind; he hates thinking about Liam and Louis fighting. 

He’s about to press play on the film because Lou’s already been gone too long. Five minutes, his internal clock says, and Harry doesn’t know what the hell it’s talking about, time is relative. He wants to know what happens with Jude Law and Cameron Diaz and the kids.

Louis crashes back onto the sofa. Harry kicks at him and frowns. ‘Heeeeeeeeey.’

Louis shoves his cracked Blackberry screen in his face (there’s an ongoing bet with Emily and Mark about when the phone will finally give up the ghost and die an honourable death). Harry blinks at the message.

‘Liam emailed then?’

‘Obviously, Curly! But see, look!’ Louis points, finger pressing against the screen and Harry winces for poor little Muck, who’s fighting the good fight. (Rhymes with 'Puck', Harry thinks. Maybe he should move on to Shakespeare when he runs out of Bob the Builder names for Louis's phones.) 

Harry reads the email again.

And again.

He thinks he must be missing something.

`Subject: gilette deal`

`Louis`  
Could you let the gilette people know i don't want to advertise the mach 3 power turbo fusion power glide razorblade package anymore? think they mite know after the meeting y/day.  
Cheers!   
Liam  
ps no not even if they offer more ££   
pps y i am sure rly sure 

`sent from my Blackberry Tmobile device  
`

Harry looks up at Louis. 'Are we laughing because he couldn't remember the name of his own product so he used every word in the world?'

'They name razors with more testosterone than military devices shaped like a penis,' Louis says urgently, 'Also, he said 'power' twice. I don't expect your babyface to be an informed reader of razor literature, Harold.'

‘Okay, then I don’t get it.’

Louis sighs and rolls his eyes like Harry is being dense on purpose or something, but honestly he’s not. He’s tired and Louis and Liam fight weird. Or not fight, because they’re definitely pretending they’re not fighting.

‘He wants me to do my job, Harold! He’s letting me be mean to people!’

Harry is sure this is very important for Louis and Liam and their relationship, somehow, because of the happy smile on Louis’s face. He smiles and leans forward to kiss Louis’s cheek and cuddles up to his side. ‘Aw, that’s great Lou.’ He reaches over him and puts the film back on. He’s so tired and his eyes are already closing but he’s pretty sure he hears Lou’s soft _yeah_ as he starts combing through Harry’s curls. 

*

Liam has a skills list longer than most actors because he can’t just play the part - he has to learn the thing, too. Singing lessons when he was in the teen film about the choir. Horse-riding and sword-fighting for the coming of age fantasy adaptation. He confirmed his distaste for guns by learning how to fire them in order to better hold a fake one. Liam never did blink at a challenge, or apparently, at the recoil on a .38. 

His entire acting process is built on giving everything of himself every time, and he knows he’s over-thinking the _Secret Diary_ choke, but it’s a first for him. 

Louis’s always asking if he can’t keep just a little back, just a little for the next thing. Well, he phrases it more like ‘can’t you tell them to fuck off this once.’ Liam is starting to think that maybe - maybe - he might have a point. 

Because the one scene he nearly screwed up on _Secret Diary_ is still bothering him two weeks later when he phones Louis. 

‘Liam, hi, can you-’

Liam waits. He knows the way Louis is: he’s almost certainly caught him on the go and he can hear a trailer door closing. 

‘Right, I’m in, you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine, I just -’

_I just knew you were about to send me a long email about my itinerary - the one we used to meet up for pancakes at Giraffe in London to talk over - and thought we could talk on the phone instead_ is the truth of it, but Liam doesn’t say that. 

‘Thought we could talk about the next few weeks, yeah?’

There’s a pause. ‘That would be- I mean, if you’d rather I emailed -’

‘Talking’s fine,’ Liam cuts in quickly.

‘It is, isn’t it? Fine thing to do. Talking.’ There’s another pause. Liam sits at his kitchen table and stares at it intently. Louis asks, ‘So how’s Shona?’

‘You’re not, like, seeing if she could replace you or anything, are you?’ Liam blurts out before he can regret it. 

There’s a blank silence on the end of the line.

*

‘Oh, God, you are, aren’t you?’ Louis hears Liam splutter out. ‘I mean, if Harry needs you, yeah, of course, but- is it because we’re- are we actually fighting? I can’t tell anymore. Louis?’

Louis raises a hand to his mouth in Harry’s shitty trailer and blinks. He’d never actually had the thought that it could look like that. Not once. But of course, Liam did. But- 

‘Wait, does this mean I’m not fired? I wasn’t sure you wanted- I mean- Can I- Liam, I can come back?’

His brain to mouth filter is malfunctioning, clearly, but after nearly two months of Liam not asking him to come back, Louis had started to think he’d been fired in the nicest way or passed back to Harry like an unwanted hand-me-down. It wasn’t a nice feeling at all. And now that Harry’s team is nearly complete - well, Louis hadn’t been sure where his next plane was going to land. 

‘Shit, Louis, yes, please?’ Liam answers, sounding relieved. 

‘Good, because my flight’s booked for the end of the week to L.A.,’ Louis replies in one breath.

‘That’s - I’ll be there. L.A.,’ Liam’s voice sounds lighter all of a sudden, like he’s smiling, and Louis feels his shoulders relax a little. 

He smiles into the phone. ‘I know you will. I keep your diary, remember?’

‘How could I forget?’ Liam laughs.

‘Hey, do me a favour?’ 

‘Anything.’

Louis frowns at the phone. He thought he’d broken him of that habit. He’d rather Liam only make promises when he knows exactly what he’s promising. ‘Ask Lou how her sister is fixed for work just now?’

‘Sure, Sam’s around, I’ll check with Lou tomorrow at lunch,’ Liam replies. ‘Hey, since you’re on. Tell me about meeting Superman?’

‘What about the itinerary?’ Louis says, feeling his mouth curve into a smile, because he knows what tone he used, even if he didn’t mean to, and he knows Liam knows, too. That tone says ‘fuck the itinerary.’ 

‘You can send me an email, Tommo.’

‘Great!’ Louis replies without a beat of hesitation. ‘So Tom Welling is totally fit, right, like as fit as you are, and he _knows_ stuff, and when he was talking about Zor-El, Kara, and Lara, he was so smart, and you’re never gonna guess who’s playing his mum, Payno -’

*

Two days later, Liam looks at his phone clock and then the sky. Somewhere up there, at the end of the week, Louis’s flight from Vancouver to L.A. and Shona and Sam’s flight from London to Vancouver will cross each other in the air. Or not, because the routes don’t work like that. He tries to _not_ have a moment about Louis coming home-- _coming back,_ full stop. He fails miserably, but at least he’s the only one that knows.

Liam doesn’t know how Louis did it and he doesn’t think he wants to, either. Louis took care of the Gillette people, put Shona in charge of Harry’s team in Vancouver, got Sam a job on _The Road_ on their hair and make up team so Harry would have another friendly face on set. Now Liam is meeting back up with Louis in L.A. before the next round of meetings. Liam’s even getting to L.A. a couple of days earlier to set up a few things.

He’s got one last thing to do in London though, and he stirs his hot chocolate with a wooden stick while Lady Lou takes off her scarf across the table. ‘No wonder you called me,’ she says, blunt as ever and sitting a folder - a physical folder - that has his actual name on it on the table. 

‘I been waiting on this day for fucking ever, because you’re too fit to be dressing like a sad dad, love,’ she takes her sunglasses off with a flourish, ‘and I can assure you the personal shopping rates in L.A. are a complete rip off. Now, let’s see about the hair-’

Liam lifts his hand from where he’s plucking at the cuff of his checked shirt and tugs at his hair again before smiling at Lou in relief. ‘Sounds good.’ 

*

Louis has learned in his time in Hollywood that the secret to looking fresh and fabulous when getting off a plane is: have your stylist fly with you. Hair and makeup if you can. Louis doesn’t have a stylist or a hair and makeup team but he’s worked with many; he knows all the trade secrets by now. 

Twenty minutes before he lands he’s in the plane’s small bathroom changing into the crisp white shirt he had folded in his carry on and adjusting his braces like a montage, or a professional. Travel sized hair gel is a godsend. He debates between a quiff or his normal swoop. The swoop wins; he doesn’t think the small gel packet has enough for the quiff.

He’s going straight to a meeting as soon as he lands and he doesn’t have time to head back to his flat first. Liam is supposed to be at the meeting. He’s always been a fan of the swoop. Not that that’s why Louis is choosing it.

L.A.X. is, of course, packed. His flight came in just after mid morning and the international terminals are always a hassle to get through. Does Canada even count as international? It’s right there, America. He’s thumbing through the emails he got during the flight and eyes the baggage carousel, willing it to spit out his luggage. He's not loving the idea of taking his bags to the meeting but he'll just pay the cabbie extra. Liam can expense it.

Maybe he should have called about a car.

When the carousel finally releases his bags he might curse himself for what Liam calls his luggage problem - he always gains a new bag - but this time it really wasn't his fault. He flew to Vancouver with nothing but his satchel and one carry on and ended up sorting out a film star’s entire set-up, meetings and all. He's not a teenager on a gap year. He needs actual clothes. 

When he exits the baggage claim area, he’s hoping he'll find a cab relatively quickly but he sees Paul. He's holding a sign, like the pro he is. However, ‘the Tommo’ with the devil horns are less so. Louis smiles. He loves Paul. 

And... oh, Liam must have sent him. Louis can't help but grin. _Liam_. 

Louis all but tosses his bags to Paul after they say hello and Paul chuckles at Louis’s mimed bowing. Oh blessed Paul, now Louis doesn't have to deal with the two suitcases, carry on, and satchel.

'Car's just in the lot,' Paul says and guides Louis across the Los Angeles heat. Louis barely refrains from titling his head up to the sun like a cat. He might be from the UK and all but he really does love Hell A's warmer climate. 

Louis nods and asks Paul about how everything's been. Paul fills him in quickly on his family and then tells him about how everything went with Liam in London. It's not that Louis doesn't care about how Paul's kids are - he has all their birthdays saved on his iCal - but Paul knows what Louis is really asking and he kinda appreciates that.

At the car Louis moves toward the passenger seat like he always does when it's just him and Paul; Paul shakes his head and nods towards the back. 'Might be more comfortable there, mate.' Louis furrows his brow but even with his business class seating he was still on a flying tube for about three hours and yeah stretching his legs out isn't the worst idea he's ever heard.

He blinks as Paul opens one of the doors and ducks down to get in--

Oh. 

'Hey, welcome back,' Liam says, stuffing his phone back in his pocket, smiling at Louis. He was probably playing Tetris, he and Harry are addicted to their iPhone games. The Blackberries are only for work-related things because Apple’s batteries aren’t reliable enough - especially when people insist on playing games all the time. Which is all very important but Louis is stuck on-

He looks good. 

Better. 

Louis didn't know that Liam could look better. 

This is important information to process.

Louis bites his lip and slides into the car. His shoulder bumps Liam's as he sits and he turns his face towards where Liam is still smiling at him with his eyes crinkling at the corners. His collarbones are more obvious now that he’s not wearing checked shirts from the embarrassing dad department. His arms are more obvious now that he’s wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt. His abs and shoulder-to-waist ratio are more obvious now that the short-sleeved t-shirt is made of L.A.-appropriate thin cotton. His age is more obvious now that the short-sleeved t-shirt has actual (adorable) stars on it. 

Louis swallows and wonders how he’s going to cope with this every day. 

He needs Aviators just to look at him directly. Except Liam’s got Aviators thrown haphazardly on the seat next to him, so that joy awaits. 

Then Louis looks up and the wide-eyed, happy look is all Liam. Not just like Louis left him, not at all, but Liam as he should be: well-rested, ready for anything. Maybe he can do this. He knows he’s going to, anyway, so they might as well get going. Louis grins right back. 

'Hi.' 

*

Louis thinks it can’t get any better - or maybe worse - and that despite his internal breakdown over how good Liam looks, things are going really well. They do the meeting and then a lunch date. A working lunch date. It’s in Louis’s work calendar so it must be work-related. Then more meetings. Louis feels invincible and sharp, like how he imagines their stunt fighters and Liam must feel when they turn and wheel around each other on set, and make the impossible seem like just another day’s work.

(If Louis reclaims his most hated in Hollywood title in the process, oops. Liam doesn’t seem to mind.)

The sun, the flight and the last two months hit Louis in a wave of tiredness as they push open the double doors of the last big building - they all blur after a while - into the evening heat. He yawns and leans on the car door, ready to close it after Liam climbs in. 

Liam frowns up at him and slides his Aviators down his nose a little. Really, who gave him the right?

‘You get in,’ Liam says, continuing to frown. ‘And order in on the expenses when you get in.’

Louis protests - Syco is _occasionally_ strict about these things - but Liam raises an eyebrow and pulls out his phone. Louis can see him hovering over the phone number for their non-Paul car service. That’d be a ‘no’ on the arguing, then. 

‘Want to share the order? I can probably swing it on expenses,’ Louis says dryly, moving around and feeling his hand brush Liam’s around the top of the car door. The metal is hot, but Louis feels Liam’s skin just the same. 

Liam begins to grin, then his eyes widen like he’s remembered something, and it’s hard to tell with the L.A. tan but he might be blushing, too. He’s glowing, Louis is not coping well with this at all. ‘Tomorrow breakfast instead, yeah? I should hit the gym. Nice day, maybe I’ll run the Canyon.’

Louis wants to counter that it’s _always_ a nice day in L.A. and that he missed him, so maybe they should just have dinner, but he’s not saying that. Out loud and stuff. 

He would also like to point out that if the way the tiny breeze is pushing the t-shirt against Liam’s abs is any indication, no, he does not need to hit the gym, because the gym will lose. 

But they’ve had a good day, and Louis doesn’t recognise himself, because he doesn’t want to like, jinx it. Or push it. Or something. He feels nervy and tingly and tired all at once. 

Liam stops him at the door and somehow, they’re doing an awkward one-armed man hug, which is new, weird and uncalled for. Louis shifts his hip and turns to properly get a grip on Liam’s shoulders. He feels Liam’s long torso press against his own and feels the breath go out of Liam when he does. 

‘Glad you’re back,’ Liam says into the material of Louis’s shirt over his shoulder, right where the shoulder of his vest sits under it so his tattoos don’t show through so much. 

‘Glad to be back,’ Louis replies. He gets in the car and gives Liam a tired wave as Paul drives him away and another car pulls up to take Liam to the condo he rents in L.A.. 

_Order in,_ Liam had said, and suddenly Louis realises why. He has no food. He has no _anything._

He moved in six months ago and he hasn’t spent more than four nights in the place, and he certainly hasn’t unpacked. He scrambles in his satchel to make sure he actually has a key to his own flat; he left one with Liam the night he left to go to Vancouver. It’s on the ring along with keys to other people’s houses, various secure drawers, offices and a few safety deposit boxes. It looks like the newest, least-used of them all. 

Except when he turns the key to the lock and sits the keys down on the side table, he realises abruptly that he has a side table. He doesn’t remember there being a side table. 

Maybe his landlord thought he wasn’t coming back and someone else moved in. 

They’re his boxes, though. They’ve got handwriting on the side that ranges from ‘footie kit and four pairs of socks’ through to ‘RANDOM SHIT FROM THE HALL CUBBY’ in various colours of marker pen. The kitchen boxes are nowhere to be found but the other boxes are on the bookcases - bookcases! - and his suitcases of clothes are lying in a row along the bedroom wall instead of piled on top of each other, easy to open and get at his things. 

Nothing that was sealed is unpacked, which seems polite, but all the flatpack he ordered online while Harry fought zombies hasn’t just been delivered; it’s been built. His TV, console and dvd player looks set up. The box marked ‘GAMES AND DVDS’ is next to the remotes. He definitely didn’t do it and forget: the cables have neat little ties to control the excess, like bows on a present. He’s never done that in his whole life. His mum would look at those and wonder whose house she was in.

His nice suits and a few of the more expensive wool jumpers he only really wears in L.A. when he’s missing the UK are hanging up in the walk in closet, the one that might be why he chose the flat. They’re still in the carriers and wraps he ordered for them to protect them from the dust. 

The bedside table is built up, too. With a lamp on it that he’s sure he _didn’t_ order online. 

He walks around his flat like he’s never seen it before - and he hasn’t, really - with the fingertips of one hand against his lower lip. 

When he’s less stunned by, oh, _everything,_ Louis goes into the kitchen. He finds the takeaway menus on the kitchen worktop, his kettle set up (someone opened the box that said ‘KETTLE!!! DO NOT LOSE!!! FRAGILE!! PRECIOUS!’ on four sides of the box then) and fresh milk in the fridge. He gives in and laughs. 

_God damn it, Liam,_ he thinks, _this is not how this is supposed to work._

But he’s smiling when he emails his mum pictures of the new place while he waits on his food to arrive.


	4. Chapter 4

_**4\. if you can hold on, hold on** _

_(Harry is 19.)_

 

*

They get off the plane and into the car in record time. Louis idly thinks that it’s been a while since he flew in something other than first class. There’s a voice in his head telling him not to get used to it, but there’s a louder voice in his head pointing out how cool everything still is, and deeply appreciating the leg room on the ten hour London to L.A. flight that they’ve gotten used to taking together. 

Paul swaps off with the driver in L.A. at the airport gates and it’s not long before they’re pulling up to Chateau Marmont. They’re ushered into the two-bedroom suite that the studio have put Harry up in. Louis preens when they’re directed to it; the studio either believes in Harry an awful lot or his quiff is big enough to need another room for his hair stylist to work in while they get him ready for the MTV Movie Awards. Both seem equally plausible. 

The door to the suite opens and Shona - God bless Shona - waves them in with a finger to her lips. They nod seriously and follow her. She gestures to the bigger bedroom with the en suite and Louis presses his ear to the door. Liam presses his to the same door above him, upper arm and side against Louis’s side with a warm press. Louis tickles his ribs because they’re right there and he’s paid to multi-task. 

They wince and Liam turns his head, with a little bit of scruff visible on his jawline, to give Louis a worried look that he returns. There’s the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up in the en suite. 

Louis fights not to burst right in. He convinces himself to be sensible and draws Shona and Liam into the living area with the TV - it’s a _very nice_ suite - and sits on the couch. He carefully turns a slow, pleased grin into a yawn as both Shona and Liam get up to make tea as Louis sinks into the couch. He doesn’t want to smugly think things like ‘well-trained’ but he wouldn’t blame anyone else who uttered the words. 

Shona puts Liam’s on the table as Liam carefully carries Shona and Louis’s cups to the coffee table. Louis hesitates before he takes his then pulls the coasters out from under the coffee table and is rewarded by Liam’s pleased smile as he sits the cups down. 

‘So he’s freaking out,’ Louis says calmly, quietly. 

‘I didn’t mean you had to get on a plane,’ Shona replies. She sips her tea and rolls her eyes. ‘I wanted to know if you had any advice because I was about to run out of things to try. He’s trying to be cool about it - he’s trying really hard - but he’s nervous.’ 

‘It’s the trailer, isn’t it?’ Liam says. He leans forward and casts an eye to the closed bedroom door. ‘They’re premiering it at the MTV Awards tonight, right?’ Liam pauses and smiles. 

Shona doesn’t work for Liam every day; she’s not impervious to his sweet, slow, no-problem-at-all smile the way Louis is, but he enjoys watching other people fall for Liam all over again. 

‘It’s not a problem: we were coming over at the weekend before Haz leaves town, anyway. I have stuff on Monday, yeah?’ The last is directed to Louis. He nods over his tea, which he holds under his chin with both hands and crosses his legs underneath him. 

‘Can I-’

‘Here-’

Liam tosses the remote and it lands with a smooth smack in the heel of Lou’s palm. Louis picks it up and finds some reruns of the Powerpuff Girls on one of the thousand and one cable channels.

‘Heeeeeeey,’ Harry’s voice says and the bedroom door opens. Harry stumbles out. His hair is sticking up like a bird’s nest, he’s not wearing a shirt and his long pj shorts are hanging off his hips in defiance of all known physics. ‘Do I hear Bubbles?’

Shona gives Louis a sharp look and he continues watching the screen. He nods along to the theme tune. It’s Liam’s turn to hide a smile that Louis can see behind his hand in the corner of his eye. ‘Pull up a chair, Curly, we’re about to talk cereal. Very important Saturday morning conversations.’

Liam blinks, then leans back on the couch, and Louis could laugh at how utterly pained his casual move to prop his feet up on the unbearably expensive coffee table is. After he got out coasters and everything. ‘Saw a kitchen back there, could do us some pancakes. Nothing shifts jet lag like maple syrup.’

‘Ooh, do you hear that? Pancakes,’ Louis repeats. He’s still watching the screen and catches the chocolate tracker bar that Liam throws him. Liam throws another from his duffel to Shona, then a strawberry one to Harry, where it bounces off of the ridiculous butterfly tattoo on his chest and he flails to catch it. 

‘Yeah, all right then, I could -’ Harry pushes a hand through his hair and it gets stuck there. He doesn’t even question the fact that they’re about two days early in their visit. This is what he has to go through for those curls, Louis thinks mournfully, and wonders how a post-apocalyptic teen leader of a band of revolutionaries could possibly maintain the styling required. It’s probably not a good time to mention that, though.

‘You’ve got time, love, I’ll ring to have the ingredients sent up,’ Shona says quietly. She stands and wraps her arms around Harry’s shoulders from behind. Harry’s knuckles are pale as he grabs her forearm for a second and mutters an urgent, ‘Thanks.’ 

Louis grins at Liam, who pats him on the shoulder and slouches off to the kitchen. As he passes Harry, now standing back from Shona, he hits him on the shoulder, too. ‘You gonna help or what, Hazza?’ 

Harry picks up a t-shirt from the arm of the couch nearby and shrugs it on. It’s got a rip in the shoulder and an AC/DC logo on the front. ‘’Course I am. I’m the cook here, aren’t I?’

*

They distract Harry long enough that the year and a half build up to the public getting to see the full trailer for what he’s been working on doesn’t really bite until the styling team arrives. By then, Louis isn’t running out of ideas - that doesn’t really happen to him where Harry is concerned, because Louis was once an experienced babysitter of pre-teen twins - but he is getting worried about what happens when Harry leaves for the show. 

A lot can happen in an hour and a half of L.A. traffic. 

Louis does a mental inventory of what he has at his disposal and grabs Liam by the arm. He drags him into the second bedroom and closes the door behind them. ‘You have to go with him to the awards.’

‘What?’ Liam says. He yawns and picks at his trackies pocket, which has a hole in it. 

‘I can do your hair and make up myself if Sam doesn’t have time - Harry’s hair looks like he stuck his finger in a socket, it might take a while - but you have to go with him to the awards. Sit backstage or summat, but be there,’ Louis says in a rush, hands curving around Liam’s biceps like he’s about to shake him. He squeezes again to check. It doesn’t feel like they’ve gotten _much_ bigger. He has professional reasons to check this. ‘Harry’s shirts should fit you all right, I’m going to raid his suitcase.’ 

‘Not the-’

‘Deep vees, I know,’ Louis says, moving away and pulling out the pots of gel and comb he always carries. 

‘Or the-’

‘Pretty sure Lou confiscated his porn star florals before he left London, Liam,’ Louis says mildly, with the utmost confidence. Besides, Louis appreciates Liam’s improved wardrobe choices in the last year, but he’s not got a perfect record himself, as fashion blogs have noted so Louis doesn't have to.

Liam pauses and Louis looks down so he can see Liam’s feet shuffling behind him. It’s not Liam’s usual type of awards ceremony and they haven’t cleared it with their PR people at all. The car is leaving in an hour but Louis is confident they can pull it off. 

‘You think you can do the quiff thing I did for the Globes this year?’ Liam says and smiles.

‘Go Greased Lightning,’ Louis replies with a grin over his shoulder. ‘Now go ask Sam what one of Harry’s shirts you’ll look best in.' The black longer one that's tight around his arms, Louis's brain supplies. Because he's a professional.

Liam leaves and comes back carrying a leather jacket and hoodie combo with the tight black t-shirt (ha!) for underneath and a pair of his own jeans. Louis is glad to see they’re the ones that fit snugly and make his legs look like they go on for miles. 

‘Perfect -’ Louis approves and gestures. ‘Now sit on the edge of the bed, will you? I’ll be back in a second.’ Liam gives him an amused look but does as he’s told. He gets his iPhone out of his pocket as Louis dashes into the next room, where Harry is the eye at the centre of a storm of hairspray and make up brushes. 

‘Sam,’ Louis says and slings an arm around her.

‘Artist at work here, Tomlinson,’ Sam says, pins in the left side of her mouth. Louis doesn’t want to know what Harry’s hair needs the pins for; they look lethal. He thinks Shona might have made the right call to sit and monitor their comms from the kitchen table far away. 

‘If I’m sending-’

‘Hey, Lou, is it true?’ Harry looks up at him and it’s comical, really, because there’s two hair brushes pulling him from side to side while he talks. ‘Is Liam coming with me?’

Louis thinks of that bit in Shrek where Puss in Boots turns on the charm, except he knows Harry isn’t even trying. And people wonder why he’s on walls and phone backgrounds across the world before _The Road_ trailer is even out. 

‘Really really,’ Louis says with a grin and nod. ‘Think he’s gone through your suitcase so he doesn’t look crap on your arm and everything.’

‘Oh my God,’ Harry says, a hand covering his mouth. ‘But he’s a proper actor and everything. The internet’s going to -’

Louis will apologise to Sam later if she’s already done Harry’s make up. He puts a hand over Harry’s mouth and glares at him. ‘You are a proper actor. Now let your proper styling team do their thing and your proper date for the awards will be ready when you are.’ 

Sam gives him a smile over Harry’s head and passes him her emergency kit. Louis heads back into the other room, where Liam is having some trouble with a level of Bejeweled. Louis wishes the game had never been invented. 

‘Harry?’

‘Fine, Sam’s working her magic, but she’s got two different hair brushes out and an assistant in there, so I think it’s just you and me, Payno,’ Louis says. He climbs up onto the bed and sits on his knees. He gestures for his hair kit from the desk, which Liam unceremoniously dumps on the bed, and Louis adds Sam’s make up to it. 

Liam turns to face him on the bed. He pulls his legs up and sits cross-legged then tilts his head up expectantly. Louis swallows and covers it by sorting through the tubes of make up so they’re sitting in the order he’ll need them. It’s just - the sun is coming through the windows behind Liam, and his eyes look rather large and warm. It’s the angle, Louis knows. Liam is an actor; he’s got a face that's made to catch light and show angles well and the endorsement deals to prove it. 

Louis scoots closer and waggles his eyebrows at Liam, who ducks his head and laughs. Louis does it again and Liam bends forward so his forehead hits the bed pile of pillows at the top of the bed. The long line of his back is just by Louis’s knee. Louis blinks, then shakes his head. It’s L.A. and Liam is practically still in his pyjamas: of course the t-shirt is thin but does it have to show every single knot of his spine? 

He looks at the ceiling and Liam sits up. Louis thinks he imagines it, but do Liam’s eyes flicker to Louis’s neck? Maybe he has something in his teeth. 

Liam pouts at him and Louis slaps his knee lightly before he can think twice about it. ‘Do you give all your stylists this much trouble, Liam Payne?’

‘Only the cute ones,’ Liam says with an exaggerated wink and the worst American accent Lou’s heard in a really long time. 

He could hyperventilate; when did Liam learn to _wink_ properly and who allowed it?

Instead he laughs and chokes out something he intends to be _Liam, stop it_ as Liam keeps talking like a cocky U.S. pilot in every military blockbuster ever. _Actors._

When he recovers his wits, he gives Liam a serious look and takes his chin in his hand before he can think about it. It’s cold and smooth; he shaved in the afternoon after they had pancakes. Lucky, that. 

Louis ignores the suspicion that the chill has transferred to his arms because he’s got goosebumps there. Liam helps by pouting again. Louis grins and shakes his head. ‘Not going to get me laughing again like that, you’re not.’

‘Oh, really?’ Liam says, raising an eyebrow and looking - God help him - thoughtful. Louis might only have himself to blame for this, but he really, seriously, has to get Liam ready for a surprise appearance at the MTV Awards. He lifts the light reflecting concealer and tilts Liam’s head to the right angle for the best view of his right eye and sweeps the stick, with its small brush, under his eye, where the dark bruise of a short-notice ten hour flight is barely starting. 

Liam sticks his tongue out at him and Louis levels him with a look. ‘I could go and help Harry you know. His hair needs a separate credit.’

‘You won’t, though,’ Liam says. He smiles up at Louis softly. 

Louis rolls his eyes and sweeps his ring finger under Liam’s eye and rubs in the concealer under the far corner of his eye. He presses on Liam’s temple and rubs a few circles there for good measure. Liam lets his head fall forward slightly onto Louis’s hand, eyes fluttering shut for a second. Louis counts himself lucky it wasn’t mascara. 

‘No, I really won’t,’ Louis replies shakily and gets started on Liam’s other eye. He doesn’t need much despite the flight, he’s been sleeping well and all they’ve done today is make sure Harry doesn’t run away to avoid presenting the trailer for his film series. 

Liam is clearly used to the makeup process and falls quiet as Louis blends some light foundation and concealer in, and even though he doesn’t really need to he brushes his thumb across Liam’s cheek. Liam’s eyelashes flutter. Louis focuses on grabbing the loose powder Sam handed over and said to put all over Liam’s face. He might pass the brush a little too hard over Liam’s nose, but it only twitches and Liam glares at him. 

‘Funny, Tommo.’

Louis smiles. ‘I think I missed my calling.’

Liam rolls his eyes. ‘I think I have brush hairs up my nose.’

‘Well, if you don’t like my technique you can just leave now, Payne,’ he says and runs the brush over Liam’s nose, cheeks, and chin one last time then taps it against Liam’s nose. He wiggles it again. Louis bites his lip. 

Sam told him after powder was lips and gave him a little pot of lip balm, untinted. Looking at Liam’s lips, Louis understands why. Liam has very nice pink lips. It’s not something Louis tries to think about too often, but right now it’s practically his job to stare at Liam’s lips. They also look very soft. He clears his throat.

‘Um, eyebrows?’

Liam shrugs. ‘What about them?’

Louis reaches and fumbles for the small dual brush Sam gave him and waves it at Liam. ‘Sam said to brush your eyebrow but I’m not sure she wasn’t taking the piss.’

‘She wasn’t,’ Liam giggles, waggling his eyebrows. ‘Sometimes they do it so they look neat or summat. I don’t question.’

Louis looks between Liam, his eyebrows, and the brush. ‘Right, of course. Okay then.’ He goes to brush Liam’s eyebrow, but he can’t. It’s too weird. _Brushing eyebrows_. He drops the brush and runs the fat of his thumbs over Liam's eyebrows. They look neat enough. Liam laughs under his hands. His eyes crinkle as he looks up at Louis and Louis barely catches himself before he leans forward.

He pulls back and grabs at the lip balm again. 'Right, give me your mouth- Uh, I mean.'

Liam shifts on the bed and nods, clearing his throat. 'No, yeah, I know what you-' 

He sits up straighter, his eyes on Louis and they're not soft and teasing like before. They're steady and Louis can feel that chill back down his spine. He unscrews the lip balm. He's been in the business long enough to know how most makeup artist apply potted lip stuff. There's a little brush they use and he's almost sure that Sam gave him one for Liam but Louis cannot remember where it is right now or even think to reach for it.

The balm is cool against his finger. 

Liam's mouth is not.

It opens a little under the pressure of Louis's finger. Maybe he understands why people use brushes. 

Liam's breath is warm where he can feel it against the tip of his finger and he dips it back into the balm to deal with Liam’s top lip. And who allowed him to have this mouth? Louis wants to write a strongly worded email to Karen, but Karen is lovely and it’s not her fault her son is a bloody menace to Louis’s blood pressure.

The last brush of his thumb against Liam’s mouth is probably uncalled for but if Louis can only get this moment he's going to make it last a little longer. Nobody ever said he wasn't a bit of a masochist. 

He takes a step back when he’s done and tries not to notice how Liam's eyes are still on him, how they drift down to his fingers as Louis wipes them on the small hand towel and says he's going to give Sam back her supplies. 

'I'll leave you to get dressed now, Li,' he manages in what he wishes were an even tone (it isn't, he’s well aware) and does not, he repeats _does not_ run away from the room. He's just giving Liam privacy to change and maybe smacking his head against the suite's living room wall.

Louis goes back in to do Liam’s hair with Liam’s eyes on him while Louis’s eyes are everywhere but Liam’s. Then he hugs Harry and sends them off to the red carpet in Harry’s limo. 

Even after he and Sam have affectionately thrown popcorn at the red carpet through the suite’s TV and applauded the trailer for _The Road_ as it _finally_ airs, Louis can’t get the feel of Liam’s bottom lip under his finger from his mind.

*

The MTV Awards are literally last season and it’s five months later. They’re on the set of Liam’s obligatory WW2 epic and Liam squints up the sky. It’s unseasonably warm for an English September and Louis is playing kick-about with a bunch of corpses in a car park by the studio door when Liam finds him. 

Louis’s braces are down and flying by his knees. His white t-shirt is clinging to his hips where it’s tucked in, hair shoved back off his forehead, and Liam is not staring. He’s just watching the match. He takes off his green jacket and folds it carefully, sitting it on top of his bag and rolling up the sleeves of his standard issue t-shirt against the heat.

Louis turns sharply around the ball as an extra with a false shoulder wound tries to dart in and take it. It’s clear the bloke knows what he’s doing: he’s careful and quick, his foot almost connecting with the ball, and never in danger of fouling Louis. 

Liam feels himself grinning as Louis _jumps_ over the bloke’s sweeping leg, like it’s nothing, and continues on with the ball. Louis had said he was all right at five aside, has a group of lads he plays with in both London and L.A. when they’re in one place long enough, but it’s becoming obvious as he runs away with the ball and scores it against the wall through the goalie’s legs that he’s a bit better than he said. 

Louis does an obnoxious goal celebration, untucking his shirt and putting it over his head. Liam raises an eyebrow. When does Louis even get time to work out? He doesn’t have a six pack; that’s usually the special joy of having three hours in the gym per day count as _work,_ not to mention that it involves a lot of repetition that Louis finds dull. He’s got a lean torso that explains the tight fit of his shirts. Liam coughs and looks away. Not that he’d notices the fit of Louis’s shirts or anything. 

The extras on the other team converge on him, making howling and groaning sounds. Louis disappears under a tangle of limbs with a shout, his trainers kicking in the air. ‘It’s not even a zombie film, you bastards!’ 

There’s laughter and a bloke with dirt on his face that looks artful gives Louis a hand up. ‘I need to head over to the stunt unit, mate, hope you don’t mind the opposition being down one man?’

Louis scoffs. ‘You’re already down a couple of goals, mate. Hardly seems fair.’ 

‘I can sub in, if you like? I’ve got costume again before the next scene.’ 

Liam wants to look around for whoever said it but he realises too late that it was him. Shit. 

Louis looks him over and Liam’s skin prickles under the gaze. He’s probably just checking he isn’t wearing any kit that’s irreplaceable. He’s not: he’s wearing the exact same fashionably-interpreted uniform as the twenty extras around him. It’s not even one of the uniforms that’s fitted to him like a good suit. Everyone’s a bit more relaxed now they’re off location and back at Pinewood with only a week to go. ‘Think you can keep up?’

Liam grins and shrugs off his own braces. ‘I can try.’ 

There’s a few laughs, some scattered applause and someone shouting, ‘Now you’re in for it, Tommo!’ 

Liam and Louis share a look and Liam turns away before he laughs. 

The goalie kicks it out to Louis, who passes it around his band of brothers before running past Liam. He’s fast, damn him, and it’s not like Liam didn’t know that. But was it really necessary for him to run straight at Liam and then neatly chip it off his knee, over Liam’s head, and run right on? He is such a little shit. 

‘You are such a shit, Louis!’ Liam shouts as a tackle on Louis earns his team a corner kick - the exact boundary is somewhat hazy but sort of agreed to be the stray stable door and the hay bale they’ve nicked from props. 

Liam jumps to header it back in play, but Louis has managed to get the angle right and it goes sailing straight into the actual net goal they’ve dug up from somewhere. (Probably a prop, Liam thinks. It’s definitely not the weirdest thing he’s seen on a film set.)

Liam’s team loses but everyone’s nice about it and there’s only a few goals in it. They stop by general agreement before the scores start to look like a rugby match. Louis already has everyone’s numbers for a rematch or debrief over pints later.

They argue athletics training vs. school footie and kick-abouts in the park all the way to the make up trailer. Louis elbows Liam in the process of declaring himself champion of the world and throws Liam a towel that one of the runners has just handed Louis. The stylists, who aren’t as forgiving as the Teasdales, tell them to shut up for five minutes about ‘bloody football, get enough of that at home’ long enough to match Liam’s make up for the next scene to the polaroid photo of his cheek cut from filming three days before. 

Louis nicks a face wipe and some hair gel from the make up trailer, and when they emerge, Liam is a soldier of Britain circa 1943 and Louis is a respectable PA again. 

Until he shoves his wet thumb in Liam’s ear. 

‘Actually, I think we’re very mature for our age!’ Louis shouts over his shoulder to one of Liam’s co-stars. Giles from Buffy, Liam’s dad in the film, mock-tsks at them in passing as he plays on his DS. 

*

‘-no, mum, I don’t know when we’ll be visiting,’ Louis says into the phone, which is in the crook of his neck. He leafs through pages of accounts and expenses that the agency have sent him in hard copy. Why they trust him with maths, he’ll never know. He props his feet up on the bed - Liam’s bed - in the trailer and toes his feet under the British Airways blanket. Liam’s been carrying it around with them since they stole it on a plane to Madrid. 

He glares at Harry’s email on his laptop. Harry just isn’t sympathetic enough to his plight sometimes. 

``  
“HE CAN PLAY FOOTIE. PROPERLY. MOSTLY.”  
HOW ARE YOU JUST LEARNING THIS, LOU? HOW? And don’t say ‘he hasn’t done a sports film’ omg. He can learn things for FUN too.   


‘Well, that’ll depend on when we get a free weekend, won’t it?’ Louis replies. He rolls his eyes and sticks smiley face post it notes in the margins where he’ll need Liam to have a look at the figures. Not that Liam helps him with his homework or anything, but it’s his money, so Louis would rather _somebody_ checked it. Liam doesn’t seem to mind. They usually look over it together over lunch or dinner.

‘Yes, I’ll tell him you said hello and to eat properly or you’ll get Fizz to phone him instead,’ Louis puts the pile of papers over onto the camp bed he’s been crashing on most nights. The hotel is far away and it’s honestly just easier if he and Liam are in the same place. ‘Honestly, sometimes I think you miss Liam more than me.’ 

He listens while his mum tells him that’s blatantly bollocks, that he’ll be getting no sympathy and grins. Liam won’t mind a trip to Doncaster, anyway. Maybe they can even rope Harry in if he can be persuaded out of the twenty-second century. 

‘Hold on, Mum,’ Louis says. He stands up and nearly trips over his phone charger, which is attached to his phone. He pulls it out. ‘Somebody’s trying to break down the trailer door. You’d think there was a bloody war on.’ 

His mum laughs because she’s his mum. Or maybe that was one of Louis’s better jokes. He doesn’t hold out much hope. 

The door opens and Charlie, one of the exec producer’s assistants, sticks his head around the door. ‘Louis!’

Louis puts his own head around the bedroom door and he can see Charlie four feet away. It’s a nice trailer, but it’s still a trailer. 

‘Charlie boy, care to -’

‘You’re going to- Louis -’

‘Spit it out, man,’ Louis says. He’s been infected by the war-era dialogue he’s been hearing so much lately. 

Charlie’s face twists with _something_ and Louis’s stomach twists the way it did when his landline rang and his mum was phoning L.A. with ‘family news’. 

‘The stunt went wrong.’ 

Louis has literally spent his whole career afraid of hearing that sentence but all he can think is: _Liam.Liam.Liam._ Louis feels his phone slip from his hand in slow motion and dives to catch it with a loud curse. He’s going to need that. 

He gets it on the first bounce. It’s still in one piece and all Louis can thinks is that it’s a shame Liam wasn’t there to see it.

* 

It's not the first time Liam has broken a bone. When he was younger he hurt his wrist trying to climb up the side of his house because he was pretending to be Batman. His toy grappling gun had not lived up to its name. Ironically, this time it might be his leg, but the stunt hadn’t been that different. 

He knows what happened - he hadn't been knocked out or anything - and he remembers every second of feeling the platform under his feet shake a few seconds too early and a little too hard. The thing is: Liam knows how to fall. He does a good portion of his own stunts and he's learned how to fall properly to avoid injury. On cue. He'd been caught off guard this time and well.

At least the doctors numbed his leg up a bit. Okay, maybe a lot.

And thankfully it isn’t a bad break. It'd been set quickly enough and the top layer of his cast was done in black because maybe it reminded him of Batman’s armour a little. It looks kinda cool, to be honest. 

Liam knows at least one person who won't see it that way.

He almost told them on set not to call Louis, but well. 

Liam's learned by now that he just can't keep Louis away. Doesn't even really like to try half the time.

This time, though. 

Louis doesn’t really _do_ calm and collected most of the time and even less when Liam is injured, and there’s only been one other time Liam’s been really hurt with Louis around. Sometimes Liam remembers that car ride and Louis carding his fingers through his hair at the worst times. He’s actually a bit afraid of how Louis will react this time. 

Hospitals have been involved. 

He’s saved from further wondering when he hears a sharp voice carry all the way down the corridor and there’s only one person who would be willing to shout like that in an A&E outside of a film. 

‘I’m glad _you_ think there’s nothing to worry about, but I’d like to see him. Now!’ 

Liam can hear the doctor’s much lower tone trying to placate Louis and well, unlike the doctor, Liam knows Louis and he knows that’ll never work. Louis won’t calm down until he sees Liam with his own two eyes. Maybe Liam knows this because he’d feel rather the same if he knew Louis was injured and couldn’t see _him._

His leg is still mostly numb and when he stands the remaining bit of his trouser leg that they had to cut up - oh crap, he’ll have to apologise about this later to the costume department - barely cover it so it’s not like Liam can hide the cast. He’s not proud to have considered trying to hide it but he _knows_ Louis. The crutches the nurse left in the room are by the bed already.

Louis catches sight of him the second Liam steps out of the room. 

Liam wants to tell him that it looks worse than it is; that he’s still wearing make up to go to war, too, but the sentence sticks in his throat. Louis’s eyes run over Liam’s body and Liam can’t help but notice how white his knuckles are as he grips his phone, or how his hair looks like he’s spent the last thirty minutes running his hands through it. His cheeks even look a little pale and Liam hates that he’s made him worry so much. 

‘Tommo,’ he says, and before the word is even out Louis is in front of him, eyeing the cast, and hand gripping Liam’s bicep. ‘I’m fine.’ He bows his head a little, whispers, ‘All in one piece, I promise.’

Louis’s fingers let up a bit on his arm but he doesn’t let go. Liam tries not to flex the muscle there but sometimes Liam forgets what a strong grip Louis has. Sometimes Louis forgets, too. 

Louis’s mouth thins and Liam can see the small hint of teeth from where he’s been biting his lip. His eyes trail over Liam again and then he nods. ‘You better be, Payner. You’re not allowed to break on my watch.’ Something quick flashes across his face and then he adds. ‘Or ever. Come on, we’re getting out of here.’

*

Right. So. Back in the hospital room when he'd been young and naive and hadn’t minded the cast, he hadn’t really thought about all the things it would impede him from doing. Like showering quickly. Going on set. Sleeping comfortably. 

Because he can’t get to fucking sleep. They’ve pushed his call time to eleven tomorrow but he still needs to be up at nine because he’s got a meeting about how they’re going to deal with this. Thank God it’s the last week of filming. It’s also 2am. And the cast is digging into the back of his knee when he turns in bed. 

Not even his bed. A hotel bed. 

It wasn’t until Paul had dropped Liam and Louis off at Liam’s flat that all three of them realised Liam still lived on the top floor with a stairwell. Louis had all but shoved him back into the car, told Paul to take them to the The Dorchester and checked Liam into a suite. He had disappeared for twenty minutes to have a ‘conversation’ with the hotel’s manager and then told Liam not to move from the sofa until he came back from getting three months' worth of clothes from Liam’s flat. 

Of course, three months' worth of clothes by Louis's standards was Liam’s entire London wardrobe but Liam appreciates how he only brought the looser jeans and trousers. Maybe he’ll wake up and fashion will be over the skinny leg fit entirely. Maybe he’ll get to sleep in the first place.

That had been hours ago. 

And really, Liam appreciates every minute Louis spent trying to make the hotel room Liam Friendly (as he called it, repeatedly), but not even bringing him the old Woody shirt Liam loved sleeping in can fix the fact that his cast is making sleep impossible.

Rolling... actually, more like flopping onto his stomach, Liam sighs and thumbs the light on the bedside table on. He’s long since stopped feeling self-conscious about calling Louis at all hours. He still might stare at the clock blinking at 2:32 until it becomes 2:37. Then he cringes because the longer he waits the _later_ it gets. His brain is clearly useless past 2am when he’s not supposed to be On and on set.

Louis picks up after the second ring.

‘Li? Li, you okay?’

Liam sighs. ‘I can’t fucking sleep. Having a cast is bullshit.’

Louis’s laugh is one of Liam’s favourite things about him and it sounds even better a little croaky and sleepy. Liam presses his cheek against the pillow. 

‘Regretting having me take back the sleeping pills then, love?’

‘No.’ _Yes_. 

He can practically hear Louis rolling his eyes. ‘Liar.’ Liam starts to say something when Louis cuts in. ‘Hang on, Batman. I’ll be there in ten. Don’t bother getting up; I got a spare keycard to the room earlier.’

Liam grins into his pillow. ‘Thanks, Lou.’

*

Louis’s phone clatters off of his bedside table.

Liam called him _Lou._

He’s never done _that_ before, not you know, out loud. Is Louis sure? He must have. Harry never stops.

(Calling him ‘babe’ that one time doesn’t count; Liam was _concussed_ , if only mildly. Or in shock. Not in full possession of his faculties, in any case, and it took Louis a month to remember he’d said it at all.)

He knows it’s not really a big deal. They have much worse nicknames for each other. But it still takes him two more minutes to get himself out of bed and into a cab. Liam called him _Lou_ and it’s 2am, excuse him if he needs a second.

When he gets to the hotel he doesn’t even knock, as promised. He finds Liam looking like a grumpy puppy on the hotel’s king sized bed. He’s in his ratty Toy Story shirt and pair of Superman boxers, hair a mess and stubble shadowing his chin and flipping through the TV channels. He was clearly waiting for Louis. 

His chest tightens up for a second. It’s too late to be dealing with this shit. 

Louis pushes that back and raises an eyebrow to Liam then shrugs his coat off. He tosses Liam the sleeping pills, getting a quiet _thanks_ in return and climbs onto the other side of the bed. He’s still in his own pyjamas; not like the driver was going to actually care, or the staff at the The Ritz back door.

Liam passes him the remote and takes his pills then snuggles down the bed. Louis watches as he flops around a bit - tries not to think of it as adorable, fails - and shoves one of the many pillows under his leg. The cast is hard and uncomfortable looking. 

‘Looks shit,’ Louis says, slipping down the bed. 

Liam frowns down at his leg. ‘Feels shit.’

Louis can’t help but coo and runs a hand through Liam’s hair. It’s finally getting longer again after the buzz cut they had to do for the film shoot. Liam leans into Louis’s hands, eyes closing. Lou’s pretty sure these sleeping pills don’t work _that_ quickly but he’s not going to argue with the results. He keeps up the motion of his hand in Liam’s hair until he falls asleep, too.

*

The insurance report about the accident comes back a month later. The studio, their insurers and the professional bodies who certified the stunt team all took an interest. Liam had been shocked by how many people were invested in him breaking one of his bones. Louis had not been shocked; he’d been periodically declaring analogue days to avoid all of their calls for a month. 

Louis grabs the report like it’s a bad review and stalks around the suite, muttering under his breath while he reads it. Liam watches him pace; he can’t do much else. Louis’s hogging all the floor space and the reading material. His leg isn’t too bad now most of the time. He's gotten used to the weight of the cast, how it slows him down and how to move with it, but watching Louis makes him feel dizzy the way only the good painkillers had. 

He doesn’t need them anymore. What he’d like _now_ is for someone to invent anti-itching pills. 

The stapled print off lands with a slap onto the table by the sofa. Liam looks at it and then at Louis. 

Louis has his phone in his hand and he’s looking at it contemplatively. 

‘Don’t break it,’ Liam says.

Louis gives him a withering look. ‘I’m not thinking about breaking it. How would I phone people and get them fired and make sure they never work in Hollywood again if I did that?’

‘Right,’ Liam says, neglecting to mention that the suite has two outgoing lines, not just because Louis knows that already. 

Liam knows the look Louis is wearing. It’s a very sharp look. If there were anyone in the room but Liam he’d be worried that they’d be getting offended. When Louis turns that particular glare on people, sometimes they don’t understand that he’s not trying to turn them into stone personally. ‘Why’s that?’

_‘Then_ I’m thinking about breaking it,’ Louis continues absently and oh dear. It sounds like a joke but Liam has his doubts about that. 

‘You’re thinking I’m making a terrible plan, aren’t you?’ Louis says. His eyes are glinting and the phone is passing idly from hand to hand. He raises his hand with a gesture to the papers. ‘Read the report, Liam. Then let me know if you’d rather I didn’t.’

‘You’re going to do it anyway,’ Liam replies and picks up the report. He wasn’t going to read it. He’s surprised that he’s only broken the one bone in his career so far; he’s been doing most of his own stunts since _The Parry_ and accidents have a way of happening when you agree to film dangerous accidents on purpose. 

‘Bloody right I am,’ Louis responds, and Liam realises sharply that Louis is holding back, because there’s a flash of real and proper anger. He gestures to the bedroom door. ‘I’ll be borrowing your room while you catch up on your reading.’

He takes his phone and the charger wire trails after him. It would be funny - Louis with a forked tail, ha - but the line of his back is rigid and his shoulders are set. His nostrils were pale with fury. 

And the bedroom door isn’t that thick. 

Liam picks up the report. A lot of it is boring legalese he can’t make heads nor tails of - detangling that sort of nonsense and reading contracts are why he has a team of lawyers and Louis. But some testimonials and interviews stick out. 

‘I don’t think ‘human error’ is an acceptable reason for an injury on a stunt organised by professionals, do you?’ Louis is saying. He’s not shouting, but Liam knows that tone, and it’s a matter of time. ‘Why don’t we have that conversation right now? Why don’t we talk about the distance between ‘accidental incident’ and ‘negligence’ right the hell now?'

Well, that gets Liam's attention. 

He's all for second chances but he'd _really_ rather the stunt people that he trusts with his life know what they're doing. And that other actors and stunt people aren’t hurt as badly - or worse - than he was. 

It turns out the file isn’t just about him; his accident is just the worst and most recent. By the time Louis is working himself up to a right fit on the phone and talking about _well how would you go about striking off a stunt co-ordinator?_ Liam’s right there along with him. He edges the bedroom door open on one crutch and goes to sit on the edge of the bed while Louis paces. The hand he puts around Liam’s waist, helping him in place of the crutch he left in the living room so he could open the door more easily, is surprisingly gentle.

Every now and again Louis looks at Liam’s leg and the black cast half-covered in tip ex (Louis) and glitter pens (Harry and all their sisters). It seems to give him a new burst of energy: he throws a glare that would fry eggs on a cold day to the ceiling, then starts in on whoever is on the end of the phone with a renewed, righteous fury. 

Liam is angry enough to not care about the language Louis’s using on his behalf or his unscrupulous methods. He calls the professional body of stunt people and threatens to have his agency get every one of their actors and directors to boycott stunt people with their accreditation. 

Liam doesn’t know if Louis can actually make that happen. 

He sounds pretty sure about it, though. If he weren’t already Louis’s client, he knows he could be persuaded to do it. 

When Louis calls Simon to check he has his back, he sounds even more sure. 

Liam knew what it meant when Louis came back from Vancouver and didn’t quit the way Liam was afraid he would. Liam sat back just a little and let him be a dickhead to people who wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer but usually - he’s not proud of this - he’s not always _in the room_ when it happens. Maybe it’s the painkillers, and the lumbering heavy cast on his leg as a reminder of why they’re doing this, but he doesn’t mind it as much as he thought he would. 

He doesn’t consider that righteous fury is a good look on Louis. It puts colour high in his cheeks and the lines of his muscles are tense. 

That would be unprofessional. 

*

‘That’s not it, Roo.’

Louis stops by the counter in the kitchen area in the dark suite. 

‘Think I’ve just had, you know, too much time on my hands. Stuck in here, you know, like in my head.’

It’s not eavesdropping if he meant to not wake Liam up. At least, that’s what Louis tells himself as he slides the car keys slowly onto the soft material of the couch instead of the hard counter and slips out of his shoes. 

‘Obviously. I’m sure you’ve been a right layabout. Hotels have gyms, I hear.’ They must be on Skype if he can hear Ruth. Liam never uses speakerphone unless on conference calls or when Harry calls.

Louis puts a hand to his mouth. He remembers listening to Liam, Ruth and Nicola from the doorframe of their parents’ living room in Wolverhampton. Karen had conned him into staying for dinner when he dropped Liam off for his Christmas break. Louis had watched from the side and tried to learn the right tone; the way to tease Liam out the way his sisters did.

Except of course, Louis hadn’t learned from the side. He’s never been much for standing watching. Geoff had called through for one of ‘you lot’ to give them another set of hands in the kitchen and Liam had sprung up, disappearing from Louis’s view. He had been sitting with his knees bent up and the back of his head against the couch cushion: right where Nicola’s hand could reach to ruffle his hair every now and again and Ruth could put her stripey socks against his knee. 

There’s a huff of a laugh from Liam’s room that’s a little lighter than he’d sounded a few seconds before. ‘Papers need to work harder than just taking pictures off twitter,’ Liam says quietly through the door. 

‘Your arms looked good and you know it, don’t pretend to be embarrassed, ’ Ruth replies. There’s a pause. ‘Bet Louis must have loved that one.’

_’Ruth!’_ Liam hisses and Louis feels his cheeks heating up. He’s sticking around because Liam doesn’t sound happy and if Louis can’t eavesdrop to fix that, he’s no good for anything, really, but he starts at the sound of his own name in the conversation. 

In Wolverhampton, Louis had dropped into the space where Liam had been sitting in front of the couch and _oohed_ at the screen, told them, _god, love me a Disney._ He’d felt them exchanging looks above his head like any good sisters would at some mad interloper with no socks on in winter. In his defence, he hadn’t known he was staying past dropping Liam off. 

‘Well, are we going to talk about this or not, Li?’ Ruth-in-the-present says much more vocally to Liam and Louis hasn’t heard that tone before between Liam and anyone in his family. He really needs to drop something to let Liam know he’s there. But if it’s about Louis, too, maybe he should hear it? Louis is pretty sure his conscience wasn’t this annoying pre-Liam and Harry. 

‘No, _Roo_ , we are not going to talk about this.’

As someone who’s been the older sibling to a younger one, Louis wishes he could tell Liam that he’s bolting the stable door long after the horse. 

‘I don’t understand why you haven’t told him.’

Liam groans. 

_Top bloke, your brother,_ Louis had said. Christmas lights were reflecting off the screen. The Disney princesses were on TV in one of the straight to TV animated films that Louis has seen about a million times, when it was on a cheap DVD his mum picked up somewhere for the twins. _He’s dead quiet sometimes but you pair seem to get him laughing even when you’re ripping the piss._

The noise from the kitchen where Liam and his mum had started singing along to Christmas songs had spiked and Ruth had leaned forward on her elbows. She’d said just quietly enough that her voice wouldn’t carry: _he knows we’re never laughing at him._

‘Told mum-’

‘I’m not mum.’

Liam lets out a sigh, one that Louis can hear from the lounge. He reaches up a hand to the wallpaper then tugs it back. 

‘And she said ‘what’s the-’’

‘’-worst that can happen,’’ the Payne siblings finish together. ‘Then you told her what could happen, didn’t you? I’d like to hear that because you know he’s not throwing you to the wolves, Liam.’

Louis is frowning at the door. He’s frowning loudly. What on Earth is Liam on about? Louis has a few ideas from previous clients, but nothing he’d figure he wouldn’t know about Liam by now. Nothing Liam’s sisters and mum would know first, as opposed to Louis, with Liam’s diary, phone, team and usually Liam himself by his side. God, he hopes it’s not a health thing. They’ve done enough hospitals this year between Liam’s usual check ups, his insurance check ups and the leg business.

Liam is quieter when he speaks again, tense and making a meal of the words like Louis hasn’t heard in years. ‘Not like I haven’t had all the time to think about it. Told you: been stuck in my head.’ 

Years before, by the time Louis had thought of anything he could say to Ruth - what do you say in the face of Payne sincerity? He still doesn’t know - Ruth had used his shoulder to push herself up and wandered through to tag Liam out at the chopping board. 

Liam had flopped back down on the couch and Nicola had asked how things were going. _Ruth chased me out, didn’t she? Mum gave her a wooden spoon and everything._ Louis remembers Liam’s open smile as Nicola cackled, how he’d looked down at Louis and said, _you’ve got my back, right, Tommo?_

Louis pads back to the arm of the couch in the dark hotel suite as Liam tries in vain to get out of talking to Ruth about whatever it is he obviously doesn’t want to talk to Louis about. 

Louis supposes that Liam was right years before and he’s still right now. 

He knocks the car keys to the ground with a slow, deliberate uncurl of his fingers and swears loudly, then knocks on Liam’s door. 

‘Come in,’ Liam shouts and sounds relieved. 

Louis pushes the door quickly and flops next to Liam on the bed. ‘Think we could film something on astroturf, Payno? The _Fields_ set is a right bog from all the rain, nearly had to hike to get the last of the stuff from the trailer.’ Louis turns on the bed and puts his head on the thigh of Liam’s good leg. He fakes a yawn and he’s a bit dismayed that it turns into a real one. ‘I was going to say sorry for waking you after I dropped my keys like a muppet but you’re up so I won’t.’ 

‘Hi Louis,’ Ruth’s voice pipes up through the speakers. ‘Whose day have you been ruining?’ 

Louis grins up at Liam and waves without sitting up. ‘Ruth! You will tell Karen how much of a terror Liam is being, won’t you? Worst behaved invalid in all of London. Poor me. Etc.’

‘I bet he is,’ Ruth says and Louis nods at Liam, waggling his eyebrows. Liam just rolls his eyes. 

Louis groans and starts to prop himself up on the bed on his elbows. ‘I’ll let you two get back-’

Liam’s palm is hot on Louis’s shoulder and his grip is like a vice. Not that Louis knows what a shoulder vice feels like or if such a thing exists. He could probably find out but he probably doesn’t want to. 

‘We were just hanging up, weren’t we?’ Liam says, voice light and eyes boring holes into the webcam. 

There’s a sharply cut off sigh on the other end and Louis sees Ruth shaking her head a little sadly. ‘Bet you could use your tea. I could, too, at that. Phone mum later in the week, yeah? She wants to sort out another day to visit.’

Louis waves and leans back obediently onto Liam’s thigh as they say goodbye.

‘Tell you what, I’ll put the food in the microwave if you sort out the film,’ Louis says, shrugging his braces down as he stands up from the bed. 

‘Toy Story?’ Liam shouts to him. 

Louis grins at the fridge door. ‘The disc is already in from the other night!’

*

Louis hates living in hotels. 

He tells Liam this repeatedly. Really, it’s not like Louis has to sleep in the room if he doesn’t want to, which Liam reminds _him,_ but not with much heat, and not very often. Not only does he have a London flat, he’s got a second bedroom in the suite. One that Liam’s never seen because his bed is comfier. Louis knows how to make suites that look like the set of an Austen adaptation surprisingly homey. 

He’s brought half of his and Liam’s DVD collections. He makes sure that when Harry visits - when he’s finally done with prepping for the premiere and press tour for his own latest film - that Harry has all his baking supplies. Sometimes Liam wonders why Harry even has his London flat anymore when he’s mostly camped out in Liam’s hotel room or Louis’s flat when he’s not back with his mum. But it’s fine. He’s never thought of himself as someone’s touchstone, but that seems be how Harry sees him and Louis. 

Harry is out tonight, though. His teenstar mate Rob is in town and they’re going to some ridiculous dingy bar in East London that doesn’t have a name. Sheeran’s playing a ‘surprise’ set at the open mic in a beanie. They invited Liam, but even without the cast making him slow and making London feel like an obstacle course Liam would have preferred to stay in. Sheeran’s shock appearance at an open mic was funny the first five times. Then his record company gave in and started calling it a tour; Liam admires his persistence.

Also, having a cast doesn’t mean he gets to slow down when he has a film in post; he just really wants to sleep when he gets back in. Liam still has to go to the studio for looping sessions. Photoshoots have become creative exercises in hiding his cast with photoshop or shooting him waist up and sitting down. For the rest of his stuff for the film they’re doing some creative work with his new stunt double and having Liam’s legs out of frame; the rest will be finished during reshoots. 

Louis, of course, still thinks Liam does too much, though. He gave him a truly impressive glare when Liam went on about how he could do a Pixar film. Then Louis muttered _DCAU_ , because he’s subtle, and Liam laughed.

And where is Lou, anyway? Liam thinks. 

He said he was coming back with Thai when he was done with his meetings. Liam could get up and make toast to tide him over but the thought of getting the bread from the bread bin, going all the way over to the toaster, then over to the fridge for the butter, then finding a knife -

Louis probably won’t be long. 

Liam yawns and looks at the time. 8:17pm. Probably still in a meeting, then. Liam leans back on the sofa and wraps Louis’s stolen airplane blanket from the Madrid flight around his shoulders. 

He switches on the telly and finds an old episode of Top Gear on, settling in to wait for Lou.

He doesn’t realise when he falls asleep. 

He’s not even sure why he wakes up, but he hears Louis’s low tone in the room and smiles. Liam’s about to announce he’s awake when he grasps just what Louis is talking about. 

‘I don’t think I need a new client.’ 

Liam stills. He carefully grips the blanket edge and pulls it closer to him. From his voice Louis sounds like he’s by the bar set up behind the sofa and like he’s struggling not to shout. That’s probably because he thinks Liam is still asleep.

‘Yes, well, thank you, Liam _is_ doing great, current injury aside, but I don’t think that has anything to do with me. Liam is a very talented -’

Liam shakes his head. Louis is half-right. He’s also half-wrong. Liam is doing great and so much more of that than he likes to admit even to himself has to do with Louis. 

‘I’m not being humble. When have you _ever_ known me to be humble, Simon?’ 

Liam bites his smile so he doesn’t laugh. Louis, however, sounds like he’s reaching his snapping point, his tone clipped like his shoes on a wooden floor when he wears those concealed lifts he doesn’t appreciate Liam complimenting. 

‘I’m being honest. Yes, we had some rough goings at the start, but we’ve worked through that and we’re getting on well now, and I don’t know why you’d want to change something that’s working.’

Yes, good, Liam thinks, nodding his head as little as he can. He and Louis are working out so well. He doesn’t want Louis to go. 

His boss must say something else and Louis lets out a heavy, insubordinate sigh. ‘Yes, of course. No, yes, I’m sure, but I’ll think about it. Thank you, Simon.’ Liam hears Louis hang up. The suite is still, so still, and Liam freezes in place. Then he hears a low curse and the clattering of what has to be Louis’s phone on the bar’s counter top. 

Liam bites his lip so he doesn’t say something ridiculous like ‘No, please stay with me!’ and give away that he was being incredibly rude and eavesdropping on Louis’s phone call.

Instead, he closes his eyes and burrows deeper into the sofa as a thought finally takes shape in his head, like it’s been waiting for the last puzzle piece to fall into place. It all clicks and everything sharpens into startlingly clarity.

Because Liam wants Louis all to himself. 

It’s a selfish thought and he could probably stand to change the phrasing, but he doesn’t.

The issue with this brand new clarity is: he’d not be risking his own career but he’d be betting _Louis’s_ on it. Liam knows what happens when actors fall from grace; the internet gets mean and they stop being able to afford luxuries like personal assistants. It’s a weird enough thing - an amazing thing - that people seem to like him now but Liam knows how quickly that can stop. He knows how many of he and Harry’s peers that it has _already_ happened to. 

Whenever Liam thinks of his schedule, he knows Louis sees it as one lone swimmer trying to stay ahead of the tide. Liam thinks of it like that, too, but where Louis sees the tide as the crowded diary, Liam sees it as looming irrelevance. He wants to be able to keep his family and Louis safe no matter what; he doesn’t want to make promises he can’t keep, and if ‘leave your agency, rely on my income to finance yours’ isn’t a promise, Liam doesn’t know what is. 

Louis is right about one thing though.

_Shit._

*

The call from Simon catches him off guard. 

What bothers him the most it shouldn’t have. He should have seen this coming. 

Of course they want him to switch clients. It was practically his speciality before: client-hopping. Client-fixing. Babysitting, really. And he’d been good at it. It had left him enough time to do serious work on the way the agency operated as well. If the world only knew how many Hollywood scandals it had missed out on because of Louis jumping out of a cab at 2am. 

That was all before. 

Before _Liam._

God, Liam. 

And Simon had been right. Liam was doing great. His career was looking as bright and steady as the north star. Louis was doing great, too. Working with Liam might not have started as well as it could have but they’re doing well. Sure, he still needed to be reminded to slow down a little every now and again. Breaks his leg and wants to do an animated film, honestly. 

And he’s a bit of grouch when he’s not feeling well, but it’s working. They’re doing great. Together. A professional team. 

Louis isn’t sure that he wants that to change. 

He never thought he’d be the kind of PA that’d want to stick with a client to the bitter end but he can’t imagine leaving Liam. 

Oh.

Well, that’s one way to fix it.

*

Except he can’t just like, ask that. Right?

So Liam doesn’t. 

He’s still healing, anyway. He doesn’t think he’s at the top of his persuasive A game and he might need sheer body weight to keep Louis on a couch long enough to have the conversation. 

Then Louis bounces into his bed and sort of, well, stays there, poking at Liam’s side like an insistent pokey thorn. 

Liam turns over and swats at him. He’s got better aim when they’re in plane seats. Practice, probably. Louis grins at him and pokes his nose instead. Liam groans and lies back on his back. 

‘What, Lou?’ 

‘A thought woke me in the middle of the night, Li, like a vision, but not like when Stephanie Meyer dreamt up Edward Cullen,’ Louis says urgently, sitting up on his elbows on top of the covers. In the low light, Liam can see how the soft, loose material of his t-shirt rucks up to expose the curve of his hip where it disappears into his pyjama bottoms. 

The light might be bleaching all the colour from the room, but Liam knows from earlier, when they watched _New Moon,_ that he’s wearing a deep green t-shirt and the red tartan pjs. Louis once claimed that he got to wear red and green outside the Christmas season because the Christmas season tries to cancel his birthday every year. 

(Liam knows for a fact that’s bollocks. Jay has spent every Christmas Eve of Louis’s life making sure the ghosts of Christmas past - or Christmas morning - never win.)

But Louis was trying to make a point before Liam got distracted by his pyjamas and Louis has started prodding his abs. 

‘Hey!’

‘Hey!’

Liam glares at him. Louis glares right back. 

Then goes from rigid to flopping onto his back with a ridiculous flail. He shuffles to the side until his elbow pokes Liam’s. 

‘I think we can both agree your current accommodation arrangement isn’t fulfilling your needs,’ Louis says. If they weren’t lying in Liam’s bed, Liam would commend Louis for that attempt at conference-room-Louis. _On_ Liam’s bed in Louis’s case; the distinction is important. 

He waits. 

His mouth doesn’t curve into a smile in the dark, it doesn’t. 

‘Your flat’s a shithole,’ Louis says bluntly a second later, ‘And I’m sick of it.’

‘You’re never in it,’ Liam replies, rolling his eyes. ‘I’m never in it.’

‘Because it’s a shithole - but I know it’s _there,’_ Louis shoots back with impeccable, dangerous logic. ‘And neither are you.’ 

‘Because it doesn’t have a lift,’ Liam points out, raising a hand to point at Louis as if it’ll make his point more reasonable. 

‘Because it barely has a _floor,’_ Louis says. It’s with the deep, deep contempt of someone who’s helped Liam get suitcases, two suit carriers, an archery kit and a mini fridge from the top floor flat to Paul’s car on one particularly memorable occasion. Liam might have put on the episode of _Friends_ with _pivot!_ on the iPad on the plane just to watch Louis squirm. 

Liam’s come to not hate the flat with a surprising amount of fondness, especially when he’s not there. It’s a bit scruffy but so is he without a team of people brushing his eyebrows. But Louis isn’t done. ‘Don’t even get me started on the damp in the ceiling. It’s not healthy.’

‘This is your worst intervention ever, mate,’ Liam says after a pause, arm still pointing at Louis. Louis bumps the back his knuckles against Liam’s in … retaliation. Yes, he’s sure that’s what it was. ‘I’m not saying I’ve started expecting banners but usually there’s some sign of planning, Tommo.’ 

Louis pauses, eyes wide, then tilts his head. His chin looks sharp from this angle. ‘Well, I told you, a great idea woke me up, and I decided to ambush you with it.’ 

‘I can see that.’

‘You can’t see anything; the lights are off.’

‘Just because you say one sensible thing doesn’t mean I’m going to believe whatever you say next,’ Liam says quickly, because he knows that tactic. He knows it well. (Isn’t it a lovely day, Liam? Isn’t it a lovely day for a bike ride? There are bikes right over there, Liam.) 

‘But it is sensible, this time it actually really is,’ Louis says earnestly. The lights reduce his face to lines and edges, this time his eyebrows winging up and his lashes casting a shadow of their own. What did Liam do to deserve to trip up over him? 

‘...what is it,’ Liam asks, eventually. He can feel the weight and warmth of Louis’s body next to his own through the covers, and maybe this is his best intervention ever, because Liam’s mind is cloudy and slow in the comfortable night. 

‘I can house hunt for you,’ Louis says quietly, sincerely, ‘find you a really nice place. Won’t drag you out to see anywhere on that leg unless it’s worth it. Get you all set up by the time you’re checking out.’ There’s another pause and Liam feels Louis’s hand shift to push at the place where Liam’s own hand is flat against the covers beneath the duvet. 

They’ve never talked about that time Liam built Louis’s furniture in L.A.. Liam had done it in a flurry of helpful activity when he hadn’t been sure Louis would even come back to work for him. Then he had panicked; he’d looked past the sea of cardboard recycling that was almost a fort by then and wondered if he should try to put things in boxes again, or get rid of it all and buy in exact replicas still in boxes so Louis never found out. 

Both options had seemed _even creepier_ than leaving the bookcases built, so he’d disposed of the recycling and run away. Only to find himself dropping off milk and bread on the way to the airport. 

If Liam can do that. If Louis isn’t scared off by that.

‘Yeah, all right then,’ Liam says, just as quietly, bumping his hand against Louis’s through the covers. ‘I suppose we could at least have a look, yeah?’ A new place would be nice.

Louis turns on the bed onto his stomach, stuffs his face into the pillow and lets out a sound of unholy triumph that’s barely muffled by the material. His feet actually kick. 

Liam watches and wonders if Louis needs to drink less tea after the watershed. Or if that’s all it takes to make him happy, letting him make a home for Liam - 

‘Payno, you’re not going to regret this,’ Louis says. He turns over and it stops the thought before Liam can finish it. 

‘I know I’m not,’ Liam replies. Then he catches Louis around the waist and tugs him back to the bed; Louis had made a motion that seemed like he was going to get up and start emailing estate agents _right now._ ‘Nuh,’ Liam mutters coherently somewhere around Louis’s shoulder blade. 

Louis is still against him, one hand frozen in mid-air. 

‘Start looking tomorrow?’ Liam asks through a yawn.

Louis turns to bring his knees up, pliant and quiet with his head on the flat plane below Liam’s shoulder and Liam’s hand slides to the middle of his back. Liam thinks: it’s no different from all those times Louis’s fallen asleep on him on planes, trains and sofas. It’s no different from all those times _Liam’s_ fallen asleep on Louis. They travel together a lot, that's all. 

*

‘ _We’re leaving,’_ Louis shouts through the open door. ‘LEAVING.’

Liam laughs and throws more of his things in the direction of the bed from the drawers. Louis is going to have someone come around and put two thirds of his clothes into storage - _nobody needs these jumpers and coats in L.A., Louis, nobody_ \- and Liam is going to sit on a plane for ten hours with his ball and chain, sorry, cast. 

And yet somehow, he’s laughing. 

He hasn’t even been stuck in the hotel suite for two months. It has a lift. There’s a Starbucks next to the ground floor and Louis knows them all by name there. They’ve been to the cinema. He’s done a few red carpets and charity galas with the cast as an accessory. They were horrible and tiring and tricky, but no one else needs to know that - even if Louis gave him a few looks that said he’d noticed and that Liam should be grateful he was choosing to be silent on the subject. 

But the wallpaper is beginning to look like one of those funny pictures that changes as you tilt it and it’s starting to freak him out. The coffee table costs more than his old car and it’s definitely older (and Louis is beginning to forget about coasters because they’ve been _making themselves at home.)_

So yeah, Liam might be getting a tiny bit of homesickness for anywhere that isn’t a fancy hotel with nineteenth century furniture. 

‘We’re going to L.A.!’ He shouts back. ‘You complain about L.A.! Constantly!’

‘Not today!’ Louis calls, singing some strange bastardisation of _New York, New York_ for reasons Liam isn’t going to question. 

‘You hate the office! You hate the traffic!’ Liam interjects. Louis appears in the doorway doing some kind of kicky-jig thing while balancing three books and a mug. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. Liam feels personally offended that Louis is merrily kicking both of his unbroken legs in _those_ tight red trousers when Liam can’t even get from the drawers to the bed without swearing yet. (Nearly, though. So nearly. He’s getting much better. The on set physio in L.A. is going to do wonders.)

‘I hate the office! I hate the traffic!’ Louis agrees, turning and bouncing back to his own room like a fucking sprite. ‘I hate the agency!’ 

Liam stops mid-throw. 

Louis stops mid-jig. 

*

Louis swallows then closes his eyes and calls out, voice high and levity forced, ‘But I might just hate the wallpaper more!’

He hears the stilted sound of Liam moving as quickly as he can to his door, then to the living room, and the sound of the crutches being placed against the back of the couch before falling to the floor with a clatter. 

‘Work for me, then,’ Liam says. 

‘That’s my trick, stop it,’ Louis says, hands on hips and three suitcases open amid the chaos. ‘Saying something mad like it’s completely reasonable.’

‘... Golly, this is a tip,’ Liam says. His voice is quieter than Louis expects, and he jumps, because that’s logical. Not like people usually jump because of _loud_ noises. No. That would make sense.

‘Well, you can go right back to your own room, then,’ Louis says and ineffectually tries to get multiple glasses cases into a pocket where there’s no chance they’ll break. 

‘Actually.’

Louis looks up. He hits a suitcase lid back when it falls against his leg, annoying fucker never works properly. ‘You’re joking.’

‘Um.’

‘You’re actually joking.’

Liam blushes. 

Louis breathes out through his nose and pinches the bridge of it, then pushes a bunch of his less nice clothes from last year onto the floor. ‘Sit before you fall down and stop bloody pushing it.’

‘The physio said it was good to try to walk normally,’ Liam grumbles as Louis slides under his arm and then helps him sit down on the space on the bed. Louis catches a glimpse of his largely unslept-in bedsheets before he does. Huh. That’s what colour they are. 

‘Not all the time straight away, you stubborn fuck,’ Louis says, feeling Liam’s back against his forearm as he settles, and pulling back. 

Liam mumbles something that Louis doesn’t catch.

‘’Yes, Louis, you’re absolutely right and I was a fool to ever doubt you,’’ Louis says loudly. ‘I suppose you’ll want tea next.’ 

‘Since I’m stuck here -’ Liam starts, lifting a t-shirt with a small frown that smoothes out into a smile before he looks up at Louis again. When Louis looks at Liam’s hands, the t-shirt is folded neatly, and oh yes, it’s one of his. Oops. Liam throws it gently into the nearest suitcase, though, so he clearly doesn’t want it back.

Louis looks at Liam, then the crutches on the living room floor, then back to Liam. 

‘Since I’m _stuck here_ because of my _broken leg_ -’ Liam says, louder, widening his eyes and pouting very slightly.

Louis throws a scarf at his face. He’s impervious to that look nowadays. He is. 

‘Fine, talk away,’ he says approximately five seconds later. 

Liam grins. He’s insufferable, really. ‘You, um, so you hate the agency.’ 

Louis rolls his eyes. ‘Well, you know. It’s like how you hate the studios half the time.’ He gestures to the window. ‘I hate going out in the rain, and yet, we keep coming back to London.’

‘I don’t hate the studios,’ Liam counters, frowning. ‘... most of the time, I don’t hate the studios.’ 

‘See? It’s a torrid little cesspool, Hollywood,’ Louis says expansively. ‘It’s not your fault my agency is full of its parasitic organisms.’ Also that they’re trying to push him off Liam and on to some brand new person Louis is sure he’ll hate.

‘So, work for me. Why is working for me mad?’ Liam asks out of nowhere and Louis can tell: he’s great at working with Liam, but when Liam digs his heels in. Well. Liam’s not great at backing down. 

Louis looks at him. ‘It isn’t, not really. I suppose. It just... sounds like it should be mad.’ 

Liam takes a breath and Louis watches something like worry, or sadness, fleet across his face. ‘The agency pays you whether I can or not.’

Louis shakes his head. ‘Not that, it’s--’

He can’t get the words out. He’s not mucking this up with Liam, he’s not. Not like _that._

‘No, I -’ Liam shakes his head. ‘Can I keep trying to persuade you?’ He grins at Louis and it’s a devastating mix of his camera smile and his proper smile. 

Louis climbs onto his own bed so his knees are pointing at Liam’s thigh. He feels something sink into his stomach: he might not be able to explain properly, not even to himself, but he can’t let Liam think Louis thinks he’s going to be some flash in the pan film star. That’s not what Louis thinks _at all._

So he’ll be quitting the agency, then. 

If Liam will let him, now. If that’s what it takes to make Liam realise Louis _really_ believes in him; in everything he can do.

Louis aims for Liam’s continuity kink; Liam’s the _worst_ for picking holes in scripts. If it’s a zombie apocalypse in a British comedy then those zombies will have consistent biology within the film’s universe. If not, Liam will frown at the page, tapping all the ‘wrong’ bits with his finger and poking Louis until he looks and agrees that it’s wrong before turning back to his comic book.

‘Look, I know you need _consistency,’_ Louis says triumphantly, pulling his feet under him and bouncing up to sit back on his heels. Pointing is Liam’s move but he does it anyway. ‘Throughout your _narrative_ , all the way to the damn Oscar you _are_ going to win someday. And if you’re sure and that means I have to stick around, well...’ Louis nods in what he hopes is a convincing way, watching Liam’s face, which hasn’t changed. 

Liam laughs, loud and bright, bending at his impossible waist to curve in half and clutch at his knees. When he sits up, he’s giving Louis an appraising look, free from the shadows it had a moment before. Liam sucks in a breath. ‘All right, Tommo, you and me, all the way?’ 

Liam offers him a fist. Louis grins and covers it with a hand. ‘You and me, Payner. You watch us run.’ 

‘You’re such a dork,’ Liam says, grinning wide, then looking around the room with a puzzled expression and his head tilted. ‘Hey, are we going somewhere?’ 

Louis jumps up and throws a pile of t-shirts at him. ‘We are _leaving,_ you menace, _leaving.’_

Liam snorts and holds up a pale blue one that hits Louis’s knees. He might have bought it before he realised Liam didn’t care if their suitcases got a bit tangled up. Liam folds it onto his knee with a considering look, and when Louis packs, it’s gone before he can warn him about the hole in the hem. 

*

Except Louis has a corner office and a month’s notice to work. He kind of expected Simon to throw him out with his crap in a box, but then he realises that would have been a kindness. 

He sends the email that’s been sitting in his drafts since - Christ, 2005, really? Three whole years. 

And the paperwork he’s been putting off for a rainy year in L.A. arrives at the door of his shiny, underused corner office on a whole mailroom trolley. He gives Jennifer a wave as she starts to unload it and says a distant ‘thanks.’

Jennifer laughs and picks up the small pile she’s sat on the desk. ‘Sorry, these are for the rest of the floor.’

Louis looks between Jennifer and the trolley. 

‘The rest is yours?’ 

‘The whole-’

Jennifer nods.

Louis swears, elbow toppling his water glass. He doesn’t catch his phone this time. 

*

It’s like a bad joke. Louis’s life is like a bad joke. What do you get when you put years of stunt fighting together with street dancing basics and a whole lot of willpower? 

You get a Liam, Louis thinks sourly, rolling his shirt sleeves up past his elbows and glaring at the sunlight coming in through the windows. 

He’s trying to get through six years of not-filing. He doesn’t need to be worrying about Liam in the gym, making sure he’s fit as a fiddle when the cast comes off and ready for dance rehearsals. The cast is going to come off in a month, just as Louis leaves Syco’s employment. Louis has the funny feeling he’s going to need all the extra time to keep up with Liam when he gets back up to speed. 

At least it’s looking like a relatively easy shoot; Liam’s going to be commuting back and forth from an actual studio for almost all of it, nearly like a _day job._ There’s going to be weekends. _Weekends._

But first, Louis has to get the one ring binder to the shredder of doom.

His extension rings. It’s an old-style plastic brick with a thick cord tying it to the desk. An email told Louod that it was certified for use in battle zones and asked him to consider a titanium Nokia for his next mobile. Considering the office three doors down gets his expenses reports - ‘new Blackberry’ ‘Blackberry x 2’ ‘Batman costume’ ‘Blackberry’ - he’s not entirely surprised. 

‘Louis?’ It’s James on the front desk. ‘Someone to - never mind.’

Louis looks at the phone. ‘Is someone coming up to punch me in the face?’

‘Um, not exactly. I’m not supposed to say.’ James sounds a bit breathless. 

Louis rolls his eyes. ‘Thanks, James.’

Then he stands up and brushes the dust from his trousers. He’s a walking disaster, but it’s entirely possible that Liam’s seen him worse. 

Liam blushes as Louis holds the door from the corridor into the office open with a flourish and a quick grin. ‘How’d you know it was me?’

Louis takes the box from Liam so he can hobble through the door. ‘James sounded smitten and like he was having an inner conflict about keeping a secret or screaming. You’re sort of an event.’

Liam continues to blush. 

Louis is used to the shark pit shouting insults at each other even while they’re on the phone, and the clatter of cups and paper, tinny earphones leaking sound as some people try to maintain sanity by canceling out the noise of their co-workers. Louis would be nostalgic, but he isn’t. He’s got Liam waiting for him. 

The hush that falls over the office as Liam walks slowly to Louis’s office is almost scarier than the chaos before it. 

Especially when they realise Liam brought fresh pizza from Joe’s. 

They start talking again as soon as Louis’s closed his office door. Liam looks at him, lips twitching. Louis looks back. 

‘Don’t.’

‘Not gonna,’ Liam says, innocently. 

‘You did that on purpose,’ Louis says, biting his lip. He’s not going to laugh. That would be a bad villain move, like a cackle in a castle. 

‘I did,’ Liam says unrepentantly, balancing his crutches in the corner of the office and taking off his Aviators. He shrugs. ‘You did say you hated this place.’ 

‘Oh, it wasn’t a complaint,’ Louis says, opening the pizza on the desk. His 2007 financials - which are a right mess, in case anyone was wondering - are going to smell like four kinds of cheese. Suck it, Simon. Louis smells the warm pizza and grins, he suspects, rather viciously. ‘It was absolutely a compliment. You’re the best almost-boss I’ve ever had.’ 

Liam pushes his hand through his hair and gestures to the desk chair. ‘Mind if I-?’

Louis rolls his eyes and waves at his seven hundred dollar desk chair. He might take it with him. It’s ergonomic. 

Liam sinks into it with an, ‘Oooh... ahh.’

Louis waggles his eyebrows. ‘Right? You’re relieved and then you’re comfy. It’s a moment.’ 

Liam nods. ‘Might have to get the brand.’ 

Louis snorts. ‘Take the damn chair. I’m leaving them a carpet.’ He waves his hand expansively to the floor, which is covered in old files and email copies he regrets deeply. Things he never need to know about the Burton-Bonham Carter situation are the top right hand corner. They’re a smaller pile than the CW Alumni; Where Are They Now? section. 

‘Do like what you’ve done with the place,’ Liam says. He tips his head back so it’s against the plush back of the chair. ‘Might have to do something like it in the home office.’

‘Home office?’ Louis says, ducking and getting mozzarella and gorgonzolla on a twitter screencap print out from when hilarious hashtagging was a #new and #hilarious thing. 

‘Didn’t I tell you? In the London house,’ Liam says, biting down on a crust and elevating his leg on Louis’s hard-earned desk. ‘I want a home office to go over scripts and do emails in. Like a proper job.’

Louis has post it notes on his hands that he could sell on ebay for thousands - well, maybe a couple of hundred - if it weren’t for those pesky non-disclosure agreements. He’s got two weeks of shredding, sifting contact details and handover notes for the things he does for the agency that aren’t Liam, like building protocols for account set ups and shouting in all caps about data protection with regard to social media sites. 

And dealing with Perez Hilton, though Simon’s sent him three emails begging him to keep that one on as a freelancer, because no one else wants to take it and he does like making Perez cry.

He lifts an eyebrow in Liam’s direction with all the elegance he can summon at this present time. His knee is creasing a paper that he’s pretty sure is Johnny Depp’s old flat lease from when he did the project in the place and needed a crash-pad. ‘Do you want my proper paperwork, too? Because if you want to get some experience in now, go ahead. Spill coffee on it. Tea, even.’

‘Tea, even!’ Liam repeats, scandalised. He puts a hand on his heart. ‘I could never.’

‘It would have sugar in it,’ Louis says. He begins the slow process of cutting staples off of things that can’t be seen by interns. The piles are destined for the shredder and then three separate confidential waste bags. He’s taking no chances. ‘It would be dead to me.’

‘Hey, does this do the thing?’

‘Don’t you dare.’

‘Like you haven’t.’

‘You’ll -’

‘Owwwww.’

Louis sighs and remembers, wistfully, when he ran to the hospital, and when he helped Liam walk, and when he fussed about the height of the crutches. ‘Yeah, that drawer just does that. Maybe don’t hit it with your rock leg again? I don’t want the company to charge me for it.’

‘Forever glad to have the chance to work with you again, Lou,’ Liam mutters, nursing his bruised knee. 

‘Everybody always is,’ Louis replies cheerfully and snips another corner. It’s all good, though, because Liam finds out he can adjust the height of the seat all the way up and quickly drop it down like the opposite of an ejector seat, so he’s happy. 

'By the way, good news?'

'Hmm?'

'We're keeping Paul.'

Liam brightens, eyes crinkling as he looks up at Louis. 'Oh! Yay!'

Louis grins, 'Thought you might like that.'

‘I do,' he says, swivelling in the chair for a second. 'Really think we can take the chair home, Lou? I think I like it.’ 

Louis tosses him the remote for his iTunes; if it’s a shredding party, it needs a DJ. He’s not sure he’s supposed to nick expensive office equipment on the way out, especially when he’s going to be still managing the team the Monday after, but he’s willing to risk it to keep Liam smiling like that. 

‘Bet we can. It’ll probably get more use at yours than it ever did here.’ 

*

When they first got the dates for the world premiere of _The Road,_ Harry was napping on his sister’s lap back in Cheshire and the information came in the form of an email Shona sent him. Gemma had been watching TV and told him his phone had vibrated on the coffee table before it stopped and that Louis kept messaging him about who he’d take.

He asked Gemma first, and not just because she was in the room, no matter what she says. She laughed and pinched his cheeks like he was still five and shorter than her, which he _is not._ Then she said no thanks and that ‘some people still had uni to go to’. He asked his mum second. Her response had been the very helpful ‘Aww, love, why don’t you take Liam?’

Harry had pouted for a whole minute but yeah, Liam. Liam is always the best to take to these things. Everyone loves him and they all think their retained friendship is the weirdest most hilarious thing ever, especially considering their career paths, and tend not to ask too many questions about things like who Harry is dating or what’s next in his plans. 

Then Liam had to go and break his leg.

Harry had almost cried when they called him, and not just because he’d been worried about Liam, embarrassingly. But even then Liam had been so great and ready to brave a proper red carpet for Harry, because it was _Liam._

Ever since he spent hours massaging Harry’s cramping muscles in between scenes and got Louis to buy Harry milkshakes when he had a particularly bad week Liam hasn’t let Harry down. Harry almost agreed. _Would_ have agreed, and then felt shitty and selfish later, but Louis had broken in there to forbid Liam from going _and_ Harry from guilt tripping Liam into going. 

‘Don’t pout, Curly,’ Louis had said and really, how did Louis know? He wasn’t even in the same city. 

‘But who am I going to go with now?’

There had been a pause on the phone and Harry frowned at his phone. Sometimes Liam and Louis’s silent conversations were really annoying. 

‘Well, Lou could go in my place. We’ll be in London for a bit anyway.’

‘Liam’s gonna be trying to dance his way into Cate Blanchett’s heart if his leg’s all right, but yeah, ‘course I will. I’ll be your Liam for the night.’ And Harry’d been filled with such bloody affection for them both and teared up a little. He was lucky he was in his room alone of they would have taken the piss. Also cuddled him. Not that he would have said no to it.

Now he and Louis were in the car and Harry was half listening to Louis talk to Liam on the phone, like they hadn’t just left him behind in Liam’s hotel, where he and Harry got ready. Liam’s still there with Sam. He doesn’t even realise he’s drumming his fingers against his knee until Louis’s hand covers his and gives him a look. 

‘You’re not going to vom, are you?’ he says, because Louis is shit, but he knows just what makes Harry laugh, too. He turns to the phone. ‘Li, I think he’s going to be sick again... It’s a good thing we stole the sick bags from the plane.’

Harry huffs and shoves at Louis’s shoulder. ‘I am not! I am not going to be sick. Lou’s a rotten liar!’ He says it loud it enough Liam can hear it. Over the phone he can hear Liam’s laughter and next to him Louis’s rolling his eyes but there’s a curve to his smile that Harry knows only comes out for him and Liam. 

He makes grabby hands for the phone. Louis shoves him back into his seat. 

‘Don’t get yourself killed before we reach the premiere, Hazza,’ then speaks into the phone again, ‘Here, film star, share your wisdom with our teen star.’

Harry sticks out his tongue at Louis and grabs the phone. 

‘You know you don’t have anything to be nervous about, right? You’re going to be great. The film is going to be great and everyone is going to love you.’ Liam’s voice is soft and steady in his ear and Harry lets him talk all the way to the Leicester Square where the premiere is being held at the Empire. Louis holds his hand the whole time. 

On the carpet he sticks by Harry’s side, slipping back into his old role as the person who made sure Harry didn’t trip over air, and Harry’s glad because he’s not sure he feels his feet from the the moment they step out of the car and into the sea of screams. 

Harry poses with Emily and kisses her cheek, laughs with Mark, and avoids colliding with X-Factor contestants, thanks to Louis. He thinks he recognises them and elbows Louis. A few dozen flashbulbs go off as one of the contestants blows a kiss to the camera. 

‘Hey, aren’t those the people you want to win X-Factor?’ 

Louis looks around sharply, smiles a little, then shakes his head. ‘Yeah, and they’re called Rhythmix, Harold. So I’d rather you not kill them.’

*

Liam gingerly makes his way out of the bathroom, hair still damp from the shower, his towel slung over his shoulder and settles at the edge of the bed. Now to unwrap the plastic from around his cast; it’s still annoying. He can’t wait for it to come off. Two weeks. Finally. 

He’s just tossing the plastic into the rubbish bin when Louis breezes into the room and stops short.

‘Li, I’ve found it--’

‘Hmm? Found what?’ Turning his face to Louis, Liam blinks. Louis is very still. It happens so rarely that Liam takes advantage of the moment and just _looks_. 

If he’d thought that Louis would stop dressing like a GQ model since he quit the agency he was so very wrong, but Liam’s never been happier to be. The outfits haven’t changed much. Louis still dresses sharp and everything is perfectly tailored but he forgoes the jackets and rolls up the sleeves of his shirts a little more often since he knows Liam doesn’t care about the tattoos being on show. There’s a new one too; they went with Harry after the London premiere for _The Road_ and watched as he got a boat on his arm (they don’t question it anymore) and then Louis gave in and got one as well; a bird covering his forearm. 

Liam gave in, too. He blames Harry doing his baby doe eyes and Louis grinning like an imp at his side. The feather is simple, but neat. Soft and stark little lines crawling up his arm. He likes it. Reminds him of his nan. 

He can’t see any of Louis’s tattoos now, however. He’s in his tan jumper, the one that makes his forever lingering L.A. tan and the gold highlights in his hair more present. (This moment right here is probably why his mum and sister goad him about finally coming out to Louis.) He’s blinking at Liam.

Because, oh right.

Shower. Nakedness.

‘Oh, sorry, I was just--’ Liam clears his throat. Louis blinks and leans against the door frame in a move Liam can’t help but notice takes him farther away from the bed, where Liam is. 

‘No, it’s fine. Um, take your time. D’you want me to grab you some clothes,’ he says, hands waving towards the wardrobe, when he notices Liam’s about to get up from the bed. 

Liam considers saying not, but for some reason his cast feels heavier like it’s weighing him down. His entire body feels heavier under Louis’s gaze.

‘Y--Yeah, thanks.’

He watches as Louis moves across the room, quickly and efficiently picking out Liam’s clothes without having to be told where they are. Doesn’t need to be told, he’s the one that set up the room for Liam anyway. He tosses Liam jeans with a wide enough leg that his cast can slip through and a grey shirt. 

‘Put those on,’ he says, grabbing Liam’s boots, still facing away, ‘We’re heading out.’

Liam shrugs the shirt on and works the jeans over his legs, ‘Where are we going?’

Louis finally turns around and he looks Liam up and down, then nods like’s proud or relieved or... something. Sometimes Louis can be so hard to read, but then he smiles and Liam can feel himself smiling back. It’s an automatic gesture now, smiling when Louis does. Liam doesn’t even think about it anymore.

Louis has got a scarf in his hand and he walks over to wrap it around Liam’s neck. He pretends to mime strangling him but he’s still smiling and Liam leans into the quick brush of Louis’s fingers against his jaw. 

‘Lou, where we going?’ Liam asks agains as shoves the shoe that he’s handed on, because last time Louis smiled at him like that Liam got a tattoo. 

‘Up and at em, Payne. I’ve found a house.’

‘I thought you were just looking for a flat!’ Still he grabs his crutches and follows Louis out of the hotel. 

The house is much bigger than a flat, much bigger, and Liam almost says no but he thinks about it. He listens to Louis as he talks about a room for a Harry and an office for himself. And well, it’s not bad, is it? 

Having a place for all of them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this part is split in two as it got INCREDIBLY LONG and yeah, two parter!

_**5a. all systems go, sun hasn't died** _

_(Harry is 20.)_

 

Louis stares at the invite and wonders who is fucking with him. Are they even fucking with him? 

Liam does get invites to film premieres that are not his, but this one? Do they even remember that he had been in talks for it? Serious talks? With numbers on the table? 

They must. Who can forget Liam? 

Louis wonders if this is another case of British acting friendships making his life difficult: Pegg and Liam have a laugh. 

But if he had auditioned he probably would have landed it, but he didn’t. Because of Louis. Maybe he’s putting too much meaning into a piece of paper. 

‘Hey, what’s that?’

Louis jumps in the chair and swivels around villain-style. He really is glad Liam convinced him to keep his old desk chair; it might not have been used much at his agency office but between Louis and Liam it gets a lot more use in the house.

Liam’s grinning a little too hard, eyes crinkled, and leaning against the door holding a tray in his hand. 

‘Is that for me?’ Louis eyes the tea in Liam’s hand, hopefully. It’s been a while since his last cup. The side of the mug has nearly cooled down.

Liam nods. He slips into his home office like he’s the PA and Louis is his boss and wouldn’t that be a nice turn-- No, that train of thought could only lead to bad places that Louis tries to avoid. And has managed to successfully avoid for a long time now. Mostly.

It’s not the first time Liam has wandered into the office with tea in his hands and something on his mind. It reminds Louis a little of the time he meant to talk to Liam about quitting the agency, or liking how much time they spent curled up together, but somehow ended up offering to go house shopping instead. 

(At least he picked a good house, though. A very good house. And if Louis crashes at Liam’s more often than his own nowadays, well, Liam’s the one who pulled him down by the hips when he went to get off the couch. Apparently the film wasn't over and the office is closer anyway.) 

‘You’ve been holed up in here everyday since we got back from L.A.,’ Liam says, setting the tea tray down. He eyes the pile of mail that Louis has been going through.

He’s right enough. Liam’s last film finished reshoots last week and they left the States right after. It’s mostly been quiet being back home, especially with Harry doing his own reshoots in Vancouver and his upcoming rehearsal schedule. 

At least it _was_ quiet. 

That envelope could change that. 

‘You’re a hero, Li. My own personal hero, I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise,’ Louis reaches for the new tea mug, tossing the envelope on the desk, far away from Liam.

Liam laughs, pulling up the other chair they have in the office and grabs his own mug. It’s a Batman one; Louis’s is Iron Man. It was a discussion point when Louis brought it and they lost an afternoon of work arguing who was the better billionaire superhero. (They agreed to disagree.) 

‘Shame I haven’t done a comic book film.’ And yes it is a shame but also Louis doesn’t need an image of Liam in form-fitting spandex in his life. It's bad enough when Liam works out in the indoor gym and how he insists on doing half his routine shirtless. Louis hums, sipping his tea. ‘So what was that?’

Louis looks to Liam. Liam tilts his head towards the envelope. Clearly he didn’t toss it far enough from Liam’s perfectly unaided eyesight. Ugh, people with 20/20 eyesight are the _worst._

‘Nothing, don’t worry about.’

Liam rolls his eyes and stands. He leans across the desk and reaches past Louis to get the envelope. Louis can’t even really stop him, his hand holding the tea cup-- Oh, Liam, sneaky bastard. Louis has taught him well. He’s almost proud.

‘You’re kinda a shit liar, Lou,’ Liam says, sitting back, and he stares the envelope in his hand. 

‘I am not.’

Liam snorts. ‘Well, you’re a shit liar to me.’

Louis doesn’t say anything because Liam has a point and more importantly Liam is reading the invite. 

Louis bites his lip. 

‘Well, we’re going, right? I don’t think I have anything that month, do I?’ 

Louis straightens, sets his tea down and reaches across the desk to pluck the invite from Liam. 

‘You want to go?’

‘Of course I do, of course we should!’ Liam is grinning now and Louis feels the offhand ‘we’ like a blow. ‘We watched all those episodes of _TOS_ for a reason. It looks like it’s going to be brilliant.’

‘But what about...’

‘ _Lou._ ’ Liam face goes all soft and fond and Louis hates it. Hates how much it loosens the knot in his chest. How much he wants to reach over and cuddle him.

He clears his throat. ‘Right, so we’re going to Sydney? Again?’

Liam grins. ‘Harry is going be so jealous.’

*

Liam has walked up Louis’ office at least twice a day in the last two month to not tell him what he’s been trying to tell. 

Today, Liam tells himself it’s going to be different as he hesitates at the kitchen door of only kitchen that’s functional just now. Fact the project manager keeps apologising about that. As if Liam is accustomed to the three kitchens the house will have eventually. (The one on the first level might not count. It’s basically a tea station, but Louis did insist.)

The thing is. How many times -

Liam turns and grips the doorframe with both hands. It’s quite comfy. Maybe he’ll just stay here, hitting his head gently off the frame in a way that would piss Louis off massively. Even when they try to fit a door and hinges onto the wood. 

It’s that or wonder how many times he can bring Louis tea with the intention of having an actual conversation before Louis starts to wonder what the hell Liam is doing. 

If Liam is regretting the whole dedicated-PA agency-quitting thing. 

Which Liam _isn’t._

But now that Lou’s made that leap of faith first, Liam feels like he can’t … not … take one in return. 

He’s only got one left to give.

So he hits his head off the door frame one more time for luck and makes the tea. Again. 

He almost wants Louis to surprise him in the kitchen instead. Maybe if the order of events changed Liam could just blurt something out to Louis and be done with it. Maybe if Louis was as psychic about this as he seemed to be about what hoodie Liam wanted for the flight, he’d know already. There’s something deeply creepy about things going exactly how Liam saw them in his head. 

The stairs up to the home office look like they do in his head, down to the tasteful stripe of rug running down them. The bannister still has dust on it with a fingerprint in it from when he did this a week ago; Lou’s told their cleaner not to worry about dusting anything except the most essential stuff until this stage of the renovations is over.

It reminds Liam of _Groundhog Day_ and he feels like he’s not growing as a person at all. 

_‘-but I can’t see straight anymore! Just dance, it’s gonna be okay!’_

Liam jumps and swears as the flat surface of the tea tips dangerously close to the edge of the cups. Then he stops with one foot on the last step. 

_’Spin that record, babe!’_

Liam smiles. Lou’s voice isn’t half-bad, it’s good actually, bears the lingering strength of training and practice he gave up a long time ago. Liam especially likes it when he’s got his headphones in and forgets that other people - like Liam downstairs, or the builders, or Harry logged in on Skype for company rather than conversation - can hear him belting out the top 40. 

Though the Gaga album would be getting worn down to dust if it were a CD. Liam isn’t sure he’s ever heard the actual album, but he’s heard Lou’s covers of it most days for months, whether it’s his voice leaking out of the shower under the door with curls of steam or from the kitchen or the office. And that makes it sound like Liam never lets Louis go home to his own flat, and he does, really, but the house is so big, and he’s got enough guest rooms to go around twice over. The office is also _mostly_ Lou’s domain. 

It’s a repeat effect Liam doesn’t mind. There’s something encouraging in standing on the steps, taking a deep breath while Louis sings that it’s going to be okay. Yesterday it was _Poker Face_ and that wasn’t encouraging at all. 

He knocks on the door and doesn’t get a response as Louis slips into mumbling along with every third word of the rap break. When he pushes the door open Louis is abusing the wireless headphones - which cost a small fortune but they were so _cool_ \- by spinning in the chair. 

Liam sits the tea on the desk and smiles up at Louis as the chair spins back to face him. Lou’s face breaks into a pleased grin and he sings the last chorus happily while Liam has a quick look at the small pile of handwritten fan letters that Louis has decided he’s allowed to see. 

He sits them down with a thud and blinks hard. 

_Dear Liam,_

_I know your character in_ The Parry _must feel like years and years ago to you now but I have to tell you_

__

Liam’s seen that letter before. Not that one specifically, but he’s seen so many like it. They’ve been pricking at him like needles inking a tattoo that can only spell one thing for months. 

__  
I was getting bullied at school  


Louis slips off his headphones with a frown. 

Liam wishes the letters were a new thing in the day but they just aren’t. He’ll reply to it, of course he will, he just- yeah, he needs a minute. And a cup of tea. Lucky he brought that with him.

‘Li?’ Louis is giving him a look across the desk, then his eyes flick to the letter. ‘Ah, do you want me to-?’

Liam shakes his head. ‘No, of course, I’ll. Yeah.’ 

Because of course, Louis would reply to it and give it to Liam to sign. It’d be a good reply, too. Liam’s read Louis’s replies to some of Liam’s fans, when there’s too many for him to reply to on his own or Liam's words sound better when Louis orders them. He pretended he didn’t for a long time, pretended he just signed them and brought them back in the next morning like he was supposed to, but he read them all, and once, he’d asked Louis how he wrote them. Louis had shrugged and said he’d had to imagine he was talking to one of his sisters or Harry, and it made it easier to be kind, and Liam had nodded around the lump in his throat. 

It’s how he found out Louis wasn’t straight. Not that Louis had ever said anything, other than a careful use of words and when they had the exes conversation in Paris, there had been male and female names in there. (Liam had talked a bit about some girls from school and clammed up.)

Louis replied to the kids asking Liam what to do about being not straight and catching hell for it with the kind of conviction that spoke to something hard won and protected, and Liam had clung to that, too.

It’s the only reason he thinks he can do this, really, because it’s not the first time he’s heard Lou’s voice in his head telling him it’s okay.

‘Hey, Liam, hey-’ 

It’s Louis’s voice and he’s right next to him on the couch that’s on the other side of the desk. There’s going to be six couches, Liam thinks distantly. Six. Enough to fall asleep on forever and ever. 

Liam looks up and oops, he must have- 

Sometimes he gets a bit lost in his head, is all. It’s what makes him a good actor, people have said: his ability to get lost in the role, submerge himself in it, but this is different. Maybe he should have called his mum, but there won’t be anything but unconditional love from that corner. 

Which is fine, but what he’s worried about is how many conditions there are on him and Louis, and his mum’s already run out of ways to tell Liam that he should have told Louis already. 

‘What’s this, then, eh?’ Louis says, tapping the back of his hand just below the knuckles. 

It makes Liam smile. It’s so familiar - everything about this is so familiar, the good and the bad. How can something that’s got so much in it he’s sure about go wrong?

‘I think -’ Liam stops and sighs, pulling his hands together tightly. He wanted to say ‘we should talk’, but he doesn’t want to worry Louis like that, not so soon after they’ve just gotten sorted. 

‘Stop thinking about what’s going to worry me and spit it out, Liam,’ Louis says sharply, sliding to the floor and crossing his legs. He reaches behind him to get his tea cup off the desk and Liam’s eyes follow the line of the curve at his hip as it turns into his back and back again. 

‘You know that conversation you kept wanting to have?’ Liam says quietly, eyes on the rug. 

Louis nods, eyes narrowing, and nudges Liam’s tea until he picks it up and rolls his eyes. ‘You ran away. Twice.’ It’s almost accusing. ‘The things I could have gotten you to say, Payner. Though by now I think I know all of them.’ Louis leers a little, and Liam doesn’t wince at the past tense, or the implication that Lou’s learned Liam beyond ever needing to have that conversation since then.

‘Ah,’ Louis says again, but it’s gentle, and Liam wants to shake him for testing him like that. Louis asks as he cradles the mug between his hands. 

Instead Liam shrugs and Louis stands up by way of a hand on Liam’s knee that Liam covers with his own for a second. He has a horrible twisting feeling in his stomach that he can’t put a name on; he’s never felt anything like it. It’s just all so- deliberate. He knows conventions and romantic comedies - he’s been in enough of them - and serendipity should be helping him out here. 

Except it isn’t. It’s just Liam and Louis, in the office they chose, with a chair they stole, in a house they’re rebuilding. They’ve made their choices and Liam can only hope he’s not sending a bulldozer into the side of them now. 

When Louis sits down in the desk chair that he’s tugged over, it’s on the opposite side of the coffee table and he’s got a serious look on his face that Liam doesn’t see often. Then his face changes into a lopsided smile. ‘Relax, Liam. You get to be nosy right back, remember?’ Louis leans across the table and bumps his knuckles against the side of Liam’s hand. ‘And it’s just me, all right? This is just me finding out if there’s anything of yours I should be protecting.’ 

_What are you not protecting already?_ Liam thinks, and there’s a bits of long-harboured awe and wonder in there. It relaxes his shoulders just a little. ‘So how does this work? You’ve got questions?’

‘Usually,’ Louis says slowly, like he’s forgotten how a song goes. He frowns a little. ‘But you asked me to, so I can guess for an hour if it helps, or...’ Louis trails off then squares his shoulders. ‘Or you could tell me why you asked if we could talk?’ He looks at Liam, eyes wide. 

‘You used to say I was confusing,’ Liam says, feeling the words thick in his throat. ‘That I confused you. I know why a little but...’ Liam looks up at Louis. ‘Why did I confuse you?’

Louis laughs and Liam waits - he knows Louis’s laughs by now. He knows Louis isn’t taking the piss. ‘Oh, God, Liam. What about you didn’t confuse me? You’re so- _you_ sometimes. Like, for better or worse. I think it’s why Harry keeps coming back to wherever you’re calling home.’ Louis shakes his head and smiles at him. ‘Even when you surprise me or piss me off you’re so - reliable and reassuring about it that I want to puke. It’s insufferable, really.’ 

Liam laughs and leans back on the couch. Louis isn’t helping. He’s either going to see this coming from miles or- well, Liam doesn’t know what the opposite is. Louis sounds so sure of him. He doesn’t want to ruin it. Except, well. When Louis puts it like that, he doesn’t know how he could. Louis always did make him feel invincible, like one of his damn superheroes before the part where you realise Batman’s broken bones will make Bruce Wayne walk slowly in the morning.

‘I’ll have to try harder to surprise you, then,’ Liam says. He means it to be funny but it lands wrong and there’s a sharp intake of breath from Louis, who shifts, and he’s wearing pyjamas, his fluffy oversize slippers and a proper shirt and braces, which is ridiculous. He must have had a Skype meeting, Liam thinks. 

‘Liam.’

Louis isn’t the most patient of sorts. 

Liam leans his head back on the couch and swallows hard. He’s never not looked a challenge in the eye before. And honestly, at this point, there's really only one thing that left for Louis to know. It’s just - he started thinking of how many different ways Louis could react. 

So he pulls himself up, imagining a hand tugging at his spine and posture until he sits better. He meets Louis in the eyes, like he told himself he would every time he walked up the stairs with afternoon tea. Louis looks back just the same. 

‘You know how you worry I don't date?’ He starts, because he’s not dumb and knows Louis thinks about that. Hell, Liam himself thinks about that. Possibly too much, which is why he doesn’t actually date and right the whole point is to tell Louis why. Finally. Thing is, sometimes, Louis is the very reason he’s so careful about the whole situation. 

Louis doesn’t say a word, still steadily looking back at Liam. He tries to smile. ‘I do... but... I mean I have, but never seriously, because I hate lying and, well, it’s blokes for me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. It wasn’t you, I just. I mean, I feel-- It’s unfair for me to ask someone to keep things secret, when I don’t like them myself. And I know we all have secrets, but I’d want to be a good boyfriend and it’s not that I’m ashamed or anything, but, well there’s never really been anyone serious. But, you should know.’ Liam says quietly. ‘Mum’s been on me forever to tell you really.’

He doesn’t look down at his shoes even though he really wants to. He did that, when it was his mum and dad, and his mum pulled his eyes up by putting a hand under his chin. He can hold his own head up this time. 

Louis, bless him, doesn’t react. Liam wishes he would. His hands are going to start shaking in a minute. Louis blinks, once, twice, then his hands start twisting the way they always do when they’ve had a last minute change of plans, or they’re stuck in an airport that only has crap places to eat. He nods slowly, the way he does when someone’s said something they haven’t been warned about in a meeting. 

Liam doesn’t wish he’d told him earlier; he’s choosing his time, right now, but he and Louis have been together long enough that Liam can read his shitty pokey face at full speed, and he’s moving in slow motion. It hurts. 

‘Just blokes?’ Louis asks, shoving his hands under his thighs as if he’s just realised he’s fidgeting. His eyes dart down to Liam’s fingers tapping on his knee as if he wants to still those gestures, too, but he doesn’t reach over. He doesn’t put his own hand over Liam’s like he did five minutes before. Liam thinks, oh god. Is it going to be like this now? Are they going to have a way of acting before and after? He can feel his eyes sting at the thought. 

‘Yeah,’ Liam says quietly. ‘’s not a new thing, Lou, I just-’ Liam shrugs helplessly. 

He could say a lot: pay lip service to the agency and its handover notes, a hundred other things. But the truth of it is that he just wasn’t there yet and he hopes that’s good enough. He hasn’t got anything else, so he’s hoping hard. 

There’s a beat where they don’t move and the house - the house Louis picked for him, the house Louis saw before Liam did - feels still around them. Then Louis shakes his head quickly and it’s like a statue coming to life, because he darts around the table to sit next to him on the couch and drags him into a hug. It’s a messy, scruffy thing, with Louis’s hands slapping Liam’s back and pulling him in. Liam lets out a shuddering breath into the crook of his neck, he’s so relieved. Not that he thought Louis would push him away, or anything so drastic, but there was always the fear that something between them would shift in the wrong direction. He doesn’t cry, but it’s a close thing, and if Louis keeps being nice to him, he just might. 

‘You don’t owe me shit, Li,’ Louis says against his hair. It’s fierce and quiet. Liam might be imagining it but it’s a little sad, too. ‘You don’t owe anyone any-fucking-thing.’

He wants to argue. There’s a kick in his stomach when Louis kisses the top of his head that says he wants to owe Louis things like _more_ and _everything._

‘And your mum is wise and always right.’

Liam laughs, a short but undeniably happy sound. Louis always makes him happy. His mum _is_ always right.

*

Louis pulls back from the hug he’s wrapped Liam in slowly.

He never...

No, that’d be a lie. He wondered, of course. Half of Hollywood and most of the world wondered about Liam, who never seemed to date but had close male and female friends over the years, but nobody in the media really knew because if they had then _Louis_ would have known. (He and Harry may have had this conversation more than once, with Harry always telling Louis to respect Liam’s choices in privacy.) He’s killed every piece of gossip about Liam that he’s known to be an outright lie, protected the bits that Liam didn’t want people to know and there’s never been anything concrete about his sexuality. Minor Hollywood miracle worker, he is.

There was speculation about him and Harry, of course, Harry being Liam’s closest and best friend, but well, Louis knew they weren’t shagging. Harry couldn’t keep a secret from Louis to save his career or the world. Other people have mostly been rumours. Occasionally, they might have been right and not even known it, he thinks now. He doesn't think about Liam's close friendship with Tom Daley of The Abs who always has a smile and hug and an open night for Liam whenever they’re in the same place. His mind supplies the word ‘athletic’ and he shuts down that line of thought before it can get off the starting blocks. 

But, well, he and Liam have treated their personal lives with surprising discretion. Liam doesn’t really need to know who Louis is shagging and Louis allowed himself one unprofessional blind spot, secretly (selfishly) glad he hasn’t had to deal with seeing Liam being with someone. Louis called it allowing Liam to have that small piece of personal privacy to himself. He made a deal with himself to pay attention if Liam got serious with anyone or the gossip rags made it an issue of Liam's reputation and career.

And now he understands a little bit more why.

Liam’s looking at Louis like he’s waiting for something. 

Louis swallows. There’s a small, traitorous and _dangerous_ thought in his head and he can’t go down that road now. 

‘I mean it, you know, you don’t owe anyone anything.’ Then a thought, one he hates even more than the one before, pops into his head, about _why_ Liam might be having this conversation with him now, but if someone’s important to Liam - 

‘And if there’s anyone that I need to be looking after--’

Liam blinks, shaking his head quickly. ‘No, no. There’s no one. Just you --you know, it felt like it was time.’

‘You sure, Li? Because no judgement here.’ And he's not relieved. He's _not_.

Liam smiles, it’s small, but it’s there. ‘I’m sure.’ He looks over Lou’s shoulder and nods to the computer, ‘Do you think Harry will be up?’

Louis looks over to where Skype is still open from his meeting earlier and then back at Liam. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

Louis shakes his head and leans back, clicking Harry’s contact. He slides his chair over, letting Liam come sit next to him. Their thighs brush and Louis focuses on how Liam’s biting at his thumb nail instead of what everything else means. He pulls Liam’s hand away from his mouth and it’s only as Liam slaps him away he realises he did it by instinct. That’s another thing that’s getting pushed away to think about much later, too.

Harry, bless him, clicks onto the Skype call straight away. Liam averts his eyes politely and Louis laughs next to him with a quick nudge to Liam’s ribs. ‘Haz, you fuck, grab a towel or something, eh? That butterfly’s wounding my eyes here.’ 

Harry’s sitting on his couch stark naked with a bowl of Lucky Charms in his hands. He rolls his eyes to the camera but comes back a minute later with a pair of trackies on. Liam covers a grin with his hand, the traitor; Harry’s shirtless, butterfly still visible. Butterfly or moth. They never got that answer. ‘What cartoon are we watching, Lou? Oh, hey, it’s Liam! Hi Liam!’

Liam grins and waves into the camera. ‘Hazza! Hear me all right?’

Louis looks between them. He uses Skype most days to talk to the L.A. office. Unexpected wifi problems aside - like when the builders unplug the router by mistake, God - it’s a pretty tried and tested bit of kit at this point. And for all they have malls that don’t quite live up to Louis’s exacting, Lou-trained shopping standards, Harry is in Vancouver, not the sodding Arctic. Film stars and their need to set a scene, honestly.

‘Fine! So how’s your day? You having afternoon tea? Lou said it was turning into a thing; I’m a bit jealous.’ 

‘You don’t even drink tea!’ Louis says, and now he’s doing it, raising his voice because it’s a camera, what joy. 

‘I do so,’ Harry rolls his eyes and pointedly lifts the cup. It’s probably got coffee in it, Louis thinks suspiciously. Is Harry even old enough to have coffee? Louis feels he should check with Anne. ‘I just haven’t made it a vital part of my personal identity that I do, unlike you.’

Liam twitches and Louis leans forward. He’d put Liam in the desk chair in front of the iMac, so he leans his elbow on Liam’s shoulder and his head against Liam’s for a second. Harry seems to catch the movement and leans forward on screen. Big eyes, Louis remembers thinking all those years ago when he got Harry’s file, and the kid still has them. Big eyes that flicker with worry for a second. 

‘So, everything okay with you two over there?’ Big eyes and no subtly when off-screen. Louis instinctively opens his mouth to answer that they’re fine, and they _are_. They will be. He’s going to make sure they are. Still, he can’t help but glance at Liam. 

Liam catches him looking and nods and smiles. 

Louis swallows, eyes darting back to Harry. For a second he wonders if he should leave the room and let Liam talk to Harry himself. Then he feels Liam’s fingers brush against his by Louis’s thigh and he’s covering Liam’s hand with his own under the desk. Liam turns his hand over to squeeze Louis’s, the way he always does when he needs a bit of steadying.

On the screen Harry’s eyes are bouncing between Louis and Liam with something like that same worry in them, but before he can ask anything else Liam speaks.

‘I just sorta told Louis I was gay.’

There’s a lot of things Louis has seen in his time in Hollywood and one of the worst things is having to witness Harry cry, whether on cue or not. This time it’s sort of lovely. Probably because he’s pretending he’s not tearing up and grinning and the bowl of Lucky Charms is seriously close to spilling over Harry’s lap and laptop. 

‘Haz, Haz!’ Liam’s saying, leaning forward like he wants to wrap Harry up in a hug and comfort him. ‘It’s okay. Oh, God, Haz. Don’t cry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.’

Harry rubs at his cheeks, ‘No, no no no! Li! _I’m_ sorry, I’m not-- I’m just. Li, you know I love you, right?’ He sniffs and does his best glare at Louis, ‘Lou, hug him and tell him I love him.’

Louis laughs and he wraps his arms around Liam again and presses his cheek against Liam’s. What? Harry asked. ‘Liam, Harry would like you to know he loves you very much, right Haz?’ On the screen Harry is nodding vigorously and Liam starts laughing. 

‘I love you, too, Haz. Very much.’

Harry grins, ‘As you should, Li.’ He pretends to look over his shoulder at the clock - like he doesn’t have one on his computer screen - rubbing at his eyes. Liam and Louis share a look. Their Harry. 

*

One month later, Harry's not crying tears of happiness anymore. He's super pleased for Liam, he’s proud as fuck, he might get a new tattoo to express his everlasting and permanent joy, but he is also _this_ close to throwing his phone at a wall like Louis did before he had to expense it directly to Liam. 

He doesn’t want to hurt Lysander. He has an appreciation for the intelligent life of his smartphones. 

But if he gets one more -

His phone rings. 

It’s Louis’s grinning mug from years ago on his screen. 

He sighs and picks it up because he is an excellent, under-appreciated friend. 

‘Matt Bomer is going to be at the gala next month,’ Louis says in a rush.

‘Are you fucking serious,’ Harry replies, flopping back on the couch in the hotel in New York. ‘He’s married, you arse, and stop thinking Liam’s going to run away with the first non-straight man who shows an interest, you know better.’ Louis starts to reply and Harry runs over the top of him, verbally. ‘Also, if you aren’t phoning to admit you have an interest yourself, you can fuck right off with your complaining. It’s how general elections work, Louis. You don’t vote, you don’t get to complain.’ 

There’s a silence on the other end of the line. ‘... Curly, been saving that up for a while? Also, that’s a terrible thing to say about democracy.’

‘You have _no_ fucking idea,’ Harry replies, put out. ‘Being your very best friend is hard fucking work.’

‘To go back to your original point,’ Louis says pointedly, but he doesn’t sound like he’s hyperventilating anymore, so that’s something. ‘I don’t think Liam’s realised that he _is_ an unattainably attractive celebrity.’

Which makes a disturbing amount of sense, and someday, when he’s less annoyed with them both, Harry will have to remind Liam that he was cast as _ocean royalty_ before he was famous. 

‘So make him realise and then do some climbing like an attainable tree,’ Harry grinds out, unsympathetic, because he’s not feeling like cooing about Liam’s delusions either. ‘By like, putting your faces and bits together. I hear it makes people feel very attractive.’ 

‘That’s shocking, you’re utterly filthy.’

‘Do you know how long you’ve been complaining about how _insufferably incredibly just wonderful_ Liam is? Because I have emails. You put this shit in writing. You should know better.’ 

Louis, being the wound up ball of frustration and rage that he he is, tells him to fuck off. Harry could remind him that he was the one who called, but grins at his phone instead. 

‘I’m not the one not having sex right now because you’d need to talk about your feelings first.’ Harry hears Louis bluster a defence and cuts in, ‘And talking to me doesn’t count.’ 

Louis makes a wordless noise and hangs up. Harry would feel mean, they love each other really, but he’s been having this conversation - rants and swearing included - for ten days and counting. It’s practically a soliloquy - one that he’s rehearsed more times than he ever wanted to. Honestly, what are they even waiting on? A sign from the heavens?

And because Liam and Louis are _psychically linked,_ Harry’s halfway through ordering room service when Liam’s face flashes up on his phone. Harry’s picture for Liam is Liam holding up his own phone, and _Liam’s_ background picture is Louis in a Batman mask. It says everything about Harry’s life at the moment. 

If he weren’t back in ice baths for _Mamma Mia!_ rehearsals - because his role did not look this hard in the film with the singing Bond, seriously - and recovering from filming every car chase scene in the world, he would maybe have sympathy. Maybe. 

However, the version of himself that needs ice baths only has a limited quota of sympathy and he’s sort of using it on himself when he’s _sitting in an ice bath_ to numb muscles he didn’t know he had. How is Liam not complaining about all his dancing for his film? 

Harry had thought they could commiserate together, but he should have known better. Liam loves to dance. It’s the only way he and Louis ever got him to go out clubbing with them.

‘Can I just have what I had yesterday?’ Harry says into the phone. ‘Sorry, anytime, yeah, sorry, I’m getting another call-’

He sits the room phone down and grabs his mobile. 

‘Harry!’ 

God, Liam’s so … happy. 

Except Liam’s been calling him everyday for a month to talk about ice cream flavours (‘Did you know Lou’s favourite ice cream flavour is-’), jumpers with animals on them (‘the zebras are hugging, Harry, hugging. Do you think Lou would like it?’) and other random topics. 

Harry’s starting to think Liam picks things at random and personally challenges himself to see how quickly he can relate it to Louis. 

Harry is one million percent done with the both of them. Wankers. 

‘Liam!’ He replies, brightly. ‘How are you doing?’ 

But like the rest of the human race, there’s being done and being mean to Liam Payne. Though if they were in the same room, he’d probably shove something at his handsome face so he doesn’t have to look at him anymore.

‘We’re going to watch the first two _Star Trek_ films on DVD tonight!’

‘That’s great! So are you going to tell Lou you want in his pants before or after _Wrath of Khan_?’ Harry says, ‘And I mean that in the British sense of ‘pants.’ Remind me, are you boxers or briefs? Lou’s boxers, unless he’s wearing tight trousers. In case you didn’t know.’ 

Again, Harry would feel mean, but Liam called him in the middle of the night, more nervous than when he Skyped the first time. Then he’d told Harry that Louis must hate him, secretly, because Liam came out to him and they weren’t married with a dog already. 

Harry had managed not to mention that Louis had been emailing him with breakdowns about Liam’s everything - and then pretending it had never happened and capslocking about your client’s smile was perfectly normal - for years. It just felt like breaking some kind of BFF code. 

Harry is a saint among friends: he didn’t laugh at Liam much, not even when Liam said he ‘wanted the opposite of this’ like a drunk call by a sober person, so Harry figures he’s allowed to be a brat about them not being together yet. Except for how they _totally are_ and have been for _years._

One thing Harry’s grateful for is Liam expanding the circle of knowledge quickly. He clicks Lady Lou’s contact on Skype and messages her. 

_OH GOD MAKE IT END_

The reply is reassuringly instant and specific.

_> I have no clothes that guarantee they’ll have sex. I tried years ago remember??_

_> What if they don’t talk about it for four years? What if it’s four more years of this shit? Except worse!! They’re worse now! _

_> i have nothing. we take their clothes and lock them up naked together then run away?_

_> That feels somehow wrong.  
_

‘... so he’d have _said_ something since then if he liked me, right? I mean, I know you said that he did, but, like, I don’t want to push it and ruin- Not to mention the whole works for me thing -’

_> don’t rule it out yet._

_> Can we say prayers for Australia?_

_> AUSTRALIA might fucking need them._

 

*

Louis is in the bathroom when he hears the text and walks out, toothbrush still clenched between his teeth, to grab his phone. The message is from Liam. 

Of course it is. 

The shoot only wrapped yesterday, but of course Liam is up and at the studio _pickgin up stuff from the tralierrrrr :)_ at seven bloody am. 

Liam is the worst film star in the world. 

Waking up at unearthly times, picking up his own things, asking Louis _what you want 4 breakfast, i’ll pick something up_. Louis is pretty sure that’s his job, but three years of knowing Liam have made this their thing, and to be honest, he doesn’t mind it. Liam being so determined to be self-sufficient does free up a good chunk of Louis’s work schedule to meddle in more helpful, nefarious ways.

They leave for the Australia in two days for the premiere. It’s only meant to be a short trip and haphazard holiday for both of them, mostly Liam, but Louis still needs to get Liam’s premiere outfit Lady-Lou-approved and check in with the hotel. 

Finishing up on the loo, he yawns and grabs the nearest jumper he can find and shrugs it on over his sleep shirt - it won’t be the first time Liam has seen him less than immaculately put together - and texts Liam back to stay put, because Louis will be picking him up from the set and they’ll go to breakfast together. 

When he gets to the set he heads to Liam’s trailer to find out Liam isn’t there. Louis still double-checks it to make sure Liam didn’t miss anything when checking it over, and makes a couple of calls to confirm when it will be cleared off the lot. He calls Liam to find out where he is. 

As usual Liam answers on the second ring. 

‘Hey, Lou, you here?’

‘Outside the trailer, where you said you’d be, but clearly you’re a liar. Where are you now?’ He holds back a yawn and berates himself for not grabbing a to go cup. It’s a chilly May morning and he honestly can’t wait to get to Australia. _Warmth. Sun._

Liam’s chuckle sounds comforting, close and warm. Louis shivers a bit. From the cold, obviously. 

‘The dance studio set, you wanker. I thought it’d be nice to, you know, see it one last time before it’s all gone.’ Liam sounds so soft and wistful on the phone, Louis absolutely doesn’t want to teleport to where he is and cuddle him up. 

He sighs. ‘Don’t move from there, I’m heading your way.’

It shouldn’t be possible to hear Liam’s smile over the phone. ‘All right, Tommo, I’ll be waiting.’ Louis adjusts his beanie and shakes his head, there’s a small drizzle that’s started to fall, and heads over to where Liam is. Hopefully it will be warmer there.

*

It’s only slightly warmer. He wonders if the heating for the room is turned off, but that thought quickly evaporates as he catches sight of Liam. He’s by the mirrors with the long bar running across it and…

He’s dancing. Alone. 

Which is not really a surprise, knowing Liam, who loves to goof around and dance to music in the house at the drop of a hat, but he’s not goofing around now. He’s doing one of the dances from the film. Not one of the big ones, maybe one of looser practice ones that got chopped up in the training montage and he’s not even being that serious about it. It should probably look ridiculous; it’s entirely the opposite.

He’s in a vest top and sweats, and he looks so good. Smooth and young and Louis can completely understand why Cate’s character falls in love with him.

Right. Fuck--

He stops thinking about that. It was a bad enough road to avoid before, but now it’s so much harder. 

It shouldn’t make a difference, Liam being gay. Except _Liam’s gay,_ and Liam’s known Louis likes men and women for years, so it’s entirely possible he likes men, just not Louis. 

The thoughts feel hollow, though. Like Louis can’t quite make himself believe that. Not after so many years of knowing Liam and living in each other’s pockets. 

Forcing away thoughts that do them no good, he goes to announce his presence. He pushes himself off the doorframe and his movement catches Liam’s attention. He immediately stops dancing and catches Louis’s eyes in the big mirrors. 

The set is empty and mostly unlit. Louis thinks that in that second their eyes meet, he and Liam can see each other too clearly. He catches sight of Liam’s flushed cheeks. 

He wonders if it would be better to pretend to think that it’s from the dancing even though they both know it’s not.

It’s not embarrassment either, not on either side; he’s pretty much cured Liam of that particular affliction. 

But they haven’t looked away from each other yet, and Louis can’t look away from the broadness of Liam’s shoulders and how his lips are curving into a small, soft smile in the reflection. 

‘Hey, Lou.’

Louis steps into the room. ‘Hey. Having yourself one last dance, eh?’

Liam smiles fully now, there’s a look in his eyes that makes Louis’s neck tingle and he tightens his fingers on his satchel. 

‘Yeah, sort of. Got bored. Wanted to see what I remembered. Sorry I wasn’t at the trailer.’

‘’is fine,’ Louis shrugs, ‘had meself a little adventure coming to find you.’

Liam grins and turns. ‘Really?’

‘No, it’s not a recce if you’re not there.’ Louis clears his throat. ‘Iit’s starting to rain, though,’ he pushes at his fringe. It’s a bit damp. He watches as Liam follows the movement. Louis bites his lip, feeling flushed himself all of a sudden.

Liam apologises again for not waiting for Louis and then moves closer. ‘Hey, you know you never danced with me?’

Louis sputters, because that’s a change in subject he didn’t see coming. ‘Sorry?’

Liam grabs his hand, ‘All during rehearsals and filming, you never practised with me. Not one dance. You usually love trying to learn all my stunt work.’

Laughing, Louis tries to shake Liam off as he moves them closer to the middle of the dance space. ‘Yeah, well, mate, all your other stunt work has actually been interesting.’

‘Rude! And you lie,’ Liam says, carefully pulling the satchel off Louis’s shoulder and leaning it carefully against the big mirror. Louis can’t help but smile at him. Liam knows how long he’s had that bag and how much Louis’s loves it. Once he spilled Red Bull on it and made sure to get it dry cleaned, insisted he pay for it, even though he’s seen Louis do much worse to the bag than that. It’s so very Liam though, to be careful with things that are special to other people. 

When he moves back to Louis, he holds out his hands again and Louis shakes his head. 

This is such a bad idea.

‘Come on, I know you like to dance. You and Harry are always bugging me to go out to clubs with you.’ Liam wiggles his fingers. Louis pokes his shoulder. 

‘Yeah, but that’s club dancing. That’s shaking your arse like a loon and not giving a shit.’ He lets Liam grab hold of one of his hands and swallows. ‘This is like proper dancing, with steps. I don’t know how to dance like that.’

Liam shrugs like it’s no big deal that the only time Louis has ever really properly done a dance was at his mum’s second wedding. ‘It’s fine, I’m leading aren’t I?’

Louis huffs a short laugh out. ‘Just this once, Payno.’ He lets Liam take his hand and wrap the other around Louis’s waist. Louis curls his hand in Liam’s and puts his other one on Liam’s shoulder. ‘One dance.’

Liam grins, ‘One dance.’ He begins to move Louis in an easy waltz, he even hums a slow tune, which makes Louis smile. 

Louis tries to focus on their feet. It’s easier to stare at their trainer-clad feet than to look up into Liam’s face. Strictly mates. Professionals.

Louis had managed until now but this is-

This is dancing. Proper romantic dancing in an empty set and there is nothing Louis can think of that can compartmentalise this. It’s not even rehearsing. There’s not even an excuse. 

‘Lou?’ Liam’s voice is low and too soft for what’s supposed to be a silly lazy dance. Louis knows in his bones he shouldn’t look up but he can’t help himself. 

Liam is staring at him like he’s never seen him before, even in the moments that he’s ignored over the years - Louis has been _really_ great at managing his feelings - because it wouldn’t have been fair to either of them, and he’s not even sure this much is fair. 

‘Yeah, Li?’ He doesn’t mean for his voice to come out so soft in return, but here they are. 

Here they are. 

He can’t even pretend Liam moves first because they move at the same time. Liam’s chin tilts down just as Louis leans up. The hands clasps together in the waltz hold tightened at the same time and even all the playful cheek and forehead kisses they’ve exchanged could have never prepared Louis for what Liam’s lips would feel like against his.

It’s too much. 

It’s everything.

It’s Liam. 

Louis tightens his hold on Liam’s hand, feeling Liam do the same, and curls his fingers into Liam’s shoulder. He should push away from him, but he can’t. He just can’t. If this is going his only moment, their only moment, he’s going take everything he can from it. He presses himself closer, mouth opening, and feels as the arm Liam has around his waist pulls him in closer as he licks at Liam’s mouth. 

They’ve stopped dancing. Moving, even. Their breathing into each other and kissing heavily, all slick tongues and heavy breaths. The undercurrent of _finally_ might be making him dizzy. and Louis doesn’t want it to stop it. It’s selfish but he knows how many things could change when they stop. He wants to steal this moment for as long as he can. 

He drags Liam closer. Digs his fingers into his hair and sucks on Liam’s bottom lip, wanting to memorise the feel of it against his tongue. 

He holds Liam to him, or maybe it’s Liam holding Louis to him with his arm a steel band around Louis’s waist. Because Liam is kissing him back like he wants to keep this moment forever, too.

When they pull away - _too soon too soon_ his mind screams at him - their eyes meet. Liam’s panting against his lips and Louis bites his lips at how swollen Liam’s mouth looks. How swollen Louis made it. It’s why Liam’s words don’t connect right away.

‘Fuck, Louis, I love you.’

Louis breathes out; Liam’s words land like a punch in the gut. Like air in his lungs. 

This was such a bad idea. 

They’ve fucked everything up.

So Louis does the only thing that he can think of, the only thing he can do in the moment. There’s no other place they can go now.

‘Shit, Liam,’ he blinks, meeting Liam’s eyes. ‘I fucking love you, too.’

He can’t leave Liam out there, risking so much, on his own. Never could. Shit.

‘Really?’ Liam’s eyes are wide and his hands are still tight around Louis. Who is holding on to him just as tightly. Nothing else feels quite real as the fake dance studio in dark morning; it’s the epicentre. Everything else is going to expand from them and he doesn’t know when it’s going to really hit, but it started here. Hell, if he’s honest it started in a first class lounge in L.A.X. 

He reaches for Liam again, because he should step back, he knows this, but there’s a light in Liam’s eyes he wants to chase and keep forever.

‘Yes, fucking really.’

Louis isn’t even surprised when Liam turns them and pushes them against one of the mirrors. He doesn’t even care. He pulls Liam closer.

This was such a bad idea.

Louis has always loved bad ideas.

*

Liam enjoys how he doesn’t take it personally that Louis is a cranky bastard clutching a cup of vile airport coffee that he’s drinking black in the first class lounge. 

He doesn’t spend a minute worrying about whether Louis has decided to regret everything they said and did against a dance studio mirror. Also, the things they didn’t do, because the heating was off and Liam’s not entirely stupid. 

Okay, so he worries for a second, but then he remembers: Louis. So that’s fine then. 

Liam doesn’t recognise it until Louis’s silly shoes (he keeps telling him he needs to switch brands) trip him up right on top of Liam and they both somehow save the coffee. Then he starts laughing, Louis balanced precariously against his side and starting to burrow under his arm like it’ll save him from 6am. 

Not that he’s taking it as a personal insult that they couldn’t get a better flight time for first class L.A. to Sydney, the least-fun 13 hour flight in the whole world. 

Liam pokes Louis in the arm furthest away and leaves his arm around his shoulders for good luck. 

‘No poking before 7am, we’ve had that conversation,’ Louis mutters. 

Liam opens his mouth. Louis glares at it and puts a finger that stinks of crappy airport coffee over it. Liam’s always liked tea better. 

‘Pre-verbal. Like dinosaurs are pre-fucking-historic.’ 

Oh, fuck, Liam thinks, a laugh bubbling up in his throat. He’s so fucking _cute_ sometimes. 

‘You’d think you’d know about the coffee by now, Tommo,’ Liam says with a nudge to Louis’s side when they’re curled up on a sofa. ‘You can get better stuff in here.’

‘It takes fifteen minutes to get here,’ Louis grumbles darkly. ‘Wanted caffeine sooner.’

‘Should’ve known we’d trip up. All we’d need is Harry turning up and it’s a proper deja vu.’ 

Liam clears his throat a little as Louis blinks, sips his remaining coffee and winces, then looks around. His eyes get a little wider and he turns to Liam with a hand on Liam’s thigh. ‘No- we _must_ have been back in this one before now. We must have.’ 

‘Not long enough to notice, not in Australia very often,’ Liam points out and hesitates before drawing circles on the back of Louis’s hand where it’s on his leg. He’s allowed to do that now, right? He did it before. 

Louis is looking around like they’ve landed in Narnia. ‘They should have a plaque, Payno. An actual plaque like they do for Elvis in that Scottish airport he was in for ten minutes.’ 

Liam laughs. ‘I know meeting Harry was the end of my life like I knew it, but I don’t think we need to wreck another bit of floor, do you?’ 

‘Dunno,’ Louis replies and snuggles back into Liam’s side. His excuse used to be that Liam ‘wore softer clothes’ than the seats and plane pillows. ‘Think there’s any dents from where we all landed?’ 

Liam very seriously takes Louis’s head in his hands and inspects his temples. He’s played a paramedic. He knows fake first aid (and actual first aid. It’s useful around Harry and Lou). ‘Your hair hides them neatly enough. Couple of greys from the Harry years.’

‘Gerroff-’ Louis yelps and his hands disappear into his bird’s nest of hair, fixing it. He’s smiling though. He blinks and tilts his head. ‘Before I started working for you, you know, organising your entire life.’ Louis looks at where their knees are touching just like usual and looks up. ‘Do you think we’re mad to be trying this, Li?’

Liam nudges his knee and tries for his most reassuring smile. ‘Mad as anybody who meets somebody, maybe.’ 

‘Yeah, but -’ Louis gestures to the patch of floor Liam remembers a bit too well in his elbows. Liam can read the gesture more quickly than any of the books Harry leaves about their houses. ‘We didn’t exactly run into each other in Starbucks five minutes ago and swap numbers.’ 

‘Because you and phones last five minutes. You’d have dropped it in my bloody tea while you tried to flirt my number out of me,’ Liam shoots back with a roll of his eyes, then bites his lips. ‘I’d have given it to you anyway. Would have taken yours to make sure.’

Louis narrows his eyes and opens his mouth to reply - whether to tell Liam he’s avoiding the subject or say something smart arse back, Liam will never know, because their boarding call comes over the tannoy, followed quickly by a smartly-dressed steward gesturing to the opening doors. 

Then they’re settled into the hush of first class, under blankets and catching up on season 3 of _Friday Night Lights_ on Louis’s work laptop. Liam supposes it’s keeping him occupied so it’s possibly tangentially related to work. The early start kicks in and Liam curls up on Louis’s shoulder (like he always does - Lou’s jumpers are the softest) with Louis’s fingers against the back of his neck to sleep the flight away as best they can. 

*

Louis, he hasn’t been celibate, but this is Liam. He knows how Liam’s body moves, how he sleeps, how he looks when he’s working out or, God help him, filming a sex scene. Now there’s so many more ways Louis wants to be familiar with that information.

Liam doesn’t help. Liam is a horrible person. He takes every chance between the plane and the hotel to touch Louis’s hand and Louis, because he’s a masochist, touches back. It’s bad enough they practically held hands the whole plane ride, and then Liam fell asleep, their feet tangled back together. It’s probably not more than they ever did, but it’s different, and Louis feels nervy and hot under the collar from more than the Australian sun. 

They’re going on a date. 

Liam is taking Louis on a date, to a film premiere. Sort of.

Kissing Liam until they stay in the hotel now would be cheating. 

Louis doesn’t know why, or how, exactly, but he knows it would be the same way he knows he just has to repeat what he said to Simon twice because Liam had tapped his knee and nodded while he was on the phone. Simon, bless him, seemed to be used to them, and it was probably Louis’s own fault for having his legs tangled up with Liam’s so they could scientifically work out the best angle for a good high five. 

So they sit in their usual seats in the car in the back and go over the itinerary. And if Liam taps his hand, and Louis taps back, in the spare seat in the between them, then, well.

They get into the lift to the suite (after a brief interlude with a fan) and abruptly realise they’re alone in a small space at the same time. 

It feels like the good kind of anticipation. 

They smile at each other and really, it should feel weirder, shouldn’t it? Maybe. As Louis instinctively hands Liam one room card and pockets the other, Louis realises it doesn’t feel weird because they have a routine. When they reach the room they move around the suite like it’s any other in the many, many hotels they’ve stayed at together. 

Liam heads into the main room and drops off his small bag neatly on the footer, Louis tosses his satchel on the couch and shoves his carry on in the other room. Paul will bring up the other three in a bit and those will get shoved into Louis’s room. They mostly have his clothes anyway, even though one of them is Liam’s. 

Louis also toes his shoes off and heads back into the main room.

Liam’s there already. He took his shoes off, too. And he’s pulled off his button down so he’s only in a white t-shirt and Louis bites his lip. 

The premiere is tonight. They have eight hours to waste, well, more like seven, considering they’ll need an hour to get ready and get to the opera house. 

They could do a lot in seven hours. 

He steps over to Liam and takes the bottle of water he’s offered. Liam’s fingers linger against his and before Louis would have pretended he hadn’t noticed. Now he can smile up and lean a little into Liam’s space. 

‘Paul will be up in a minute with the rest of the stuff.’

Liam nods, ‘Yeah.’

‘Then we’re free until the premiere.’

‘Yep.’ 

Louis grins. ‘That’s about seven hours.’

Liam bites his lip and Louis would like Paul to get up here already and drop the bags off. ‘We should probably eat.’

‘That’s what room service is for.’

Liam reaches for the loop of Louis’s trousers and opens his mouth to say something - do something? God, Louis hopes. - when they hear the door click open. 

Paul always gets the extra keycard.

Louis swallows, not sure if he hates or loves Paul right now. 

Paul leaves the bags and double checks the time they’re leaving with Louis and by the time Louis’s closed the door again, Liam’s going about organising his suitcase and Louis decides. He hates Paul.

*

Liam debates his suit choice for about five seconds, then remembers that Louis and Lady Lou _picked it out for him_ on a conference Skype call from Liam’s walk in wardrobe in the London house. 

Well. He’s not going to say no to that, is he? He does switch out the cufflinks because he knows Louis likes the ones he wears to meetings better and they’re not actually obligated to advertise anything tonight. 

Australia is funny. It’s warm enough that the jacket is probably ridiculous, but it’s practically dress code at world premieres. The opera house will probably be cool enough inside that it shouldn’t be too bad. It will be dark when they leave and cool. Liam remembers that much from the _Sea Prince_ shoot.

He finishes with his hair and what little bits of make up he’s dealing with - he’s getting better at doing it on his own now and they haven’t flown out any of the usual stylists. If Liam’s honest, this trip was never about work. For one thing, he’s got Louis on the list at the premiere as his plus one, not his assistant. 

‘Car in 10!’ Louis shouts from the living room of the suite, surprising him. 

He fussed enough, clearly, to get rid of the spare time after Louis disappeared into the second room of the suite to muck about with his hair for an hour. And probably get dressed, too, because he brought two suitcases of options. But mainly the hair thing. Liam double checks his shirt and jacket in the mirror, feeling suddenly nervy. It’s not the red carpet thing. It’s not even his film, so it’s not _those_ nerves.

It’s just... The suit is fine, and Louis has seen him in much worse outfits, he’s seen Liam in tatty joggers and Batman shirts with tea stains (...that are Louis’s fault for making him laugh), but it’s different tonight. Liam wants to look good. And not just for the camera. He wants to look good for Louis. It’s nice to be able to finish the thought. 

He takes a final look in the mirror and heads out into the suite. 

Louis is sitting on the arm of the couch like it’s theirs; he’s comfortable wherever they find themselves. And god. Sometimes Liam wonders why Louis never tried his hand at acting, because his face is made for it. Maybe Liam is a little biased, maybe it’s finally being able to express how much he appreciates _everything_ about Louis, but god, he’s gorgeous. 

That’s a nice thought to finish, too.

Unlike Liam, Louis doesn’t have to do the full suit and tie, even though Liam’s foregoing the tie. That’s because he’s his PA (right, they should talk about that at length at some point), but he’s also _Louis_ , and dresses with more care than Liam - when he can be bothered. 

The shirt is dark and the trousers are light and tight. The braces match the trousers and he’s not wearing a jacket. The sun is doing incredibly distressing things to his hair. When he turns to Liam, his smile is so wide and bright that Liam isn’t sure that they should bother with his whole film thing. 

‘Car’s downstairs, ready, film star?’ Louis says, walking over and fluttering his hands over Liam’s shirt collar, smoothing the line of his shoulders. It should be like every other time Louis’s done that except this time Liam does what he’s never let himself think of doing before.

He reaches up and circles Lou’s wrist with his hand. Louis stills. His eyes flutter up to Liam.

‘You look great,’ Liam says, because he wants Louis to know. It’s not the first time he’s told Louis this when they go out and check each other over, but right now he’s not talking to him  
as an extension of Liam's entourage or whatever. He’s Louis, who Liam’s rather completely mad for, and he wants Louis to know that. 

A little colour rises into Louis’s cheeks, making him look even _better_ , and Liam didn’t know that was possible. He thinks back on earlier when Paul came in with the rest of the luggage and how he’d been a little relieved. It’s not that he’s grateful he didn’t get to kiss Louis again: _God,_ no. He had his fingers crooked in Lou’s belt loop and one foot between Lou’s feet and he was about to-

Well, he’s glad he didn’t, is all. 

It’s been a long time coming and it should be - he wants it to be - right. He wants them to be dressed up. He wants to put his jacket on just so Louis can push it off his shoulders. He wants Louis to have his braces on just so he can slide his hands under them and slide them down his arms. He’s also not entirely sure they’ll know how to stop, and the only thing sillier than flying halfway around the world to go to see a film is surely flying halfway around the world not to leave a hotel room. 

Liam gulps. The things they could do if they didn’t leave the hotel room.

Louis bites his lip and Liam really, really hates that he promised Pegg he’d show up. 

‘I’m not wearing a jacket,’ Louis says, soft. 

‘You didn’t pack one.’

‘We were going to Australia.’

‘And a film premiere.’

‘Where I usually drop into the background--’ Louis cuts off there because Liam shifts his hold on Louis’s wrist and grasps his hands. 

‘You really don’t.’

Louis gets a little pinker and he vibrates a little, like he’s trying not to bounce on his toes. _’And_ I didn’t think I was going on a date.’ 

Now it’s Liam’s turn to colour if Louis’s grin and the heat around his neck is anything to go by. ‘Well, you are now.’

‘I am.’ He sways into Liam and smooths his hand over the lapels of Liam’s jacket. ‘We are.’

Liam nods, ‘We are.’

‘I can’t believe you’re not even buying me dinner first,’ he says, tugging Liam towards the door, already pulling his phone out and calling Paul to tell him they were heading down. Liam wants to pull him towards him and drag his mouth down the tendon of Louis’s neck he can see-- 

And, yeah, okay, that would probably make them late. Liam hates Pegg.

Louis looks over his shoulder, brows furrowing. ‘Li?’

Liam shakes his head. ‘Yeah, yeah, let’s go.’

Louis gives him a long look and then takes a deep breathe and gives Liam a smile Liam doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. Maybe he pretended not to see it. 

‘You know, it’s bad form to say, but I hope the film is horrible and we can jog off early.’ 

Liam laughs and shakes his head, ‘Don’t tell anyone I said so, but me too.’ Louis tugs at his hand again and Liam lets himself be pulled. He leans down and brushes his lips against Louis’s cheek. ‘You’re the best, you know.’

Louis ducks his head and pushes them out of the room, because really at the rate they’re going they’re going to be late.

*

They aren’t late. 

The film isn’t horrible.

And Louis sitting next to him at a premiere isn’t a first, though he usually sits in the back. Not because Liam isn’t allowed to have him up front, but because he’s terrible at sitting still when there could be something happening that needs his attention, and he usually prefers to sit where he can refresh his email and check his texts and sneak out if the team needs him. Tonight there’s no Blackberry to seen, except the outline of it against the tight material of his trousers. It’s the closest to off work Liam’s seen him in years. 

Liam felt something in his stomach settle when he turned from a red carpet interview. Louis was next to him, tugging him on to where the next ‘just thirty seconds, yeah?’ waited to stick a camera in his face. Because it was Louis, tugging him on, heading on first as usual. But it was _Louis,_ his palm warm over Liam’s elbow and squeezing, staying in place for longer than necessary to guide him to the interviewer, smiling up through his lashes as the Australian sun cast everything in a golden light. 

It was Louis, sliding into the seat next to his in the fifth row, two rows away from the cast and crew, leaning forward to return a fist bump from the blonde assistant director Liam vaguely remembers from _Sea Prince,_ all those years ago. Niall Horan opens his mouth to say something, but the applause starts from the back as the main cast walks in, and they’re standing, and he turns back to the front. 

Louis hipchecks him as he stands and Liam turns to grin at him. Then Louis leans over and whispers to his cheekbone, ‘Eyes front. I hear we’re going to see a film.’

Liam snorts into his shoulder and looks forward as the flashbulbs go off. Except now all he wants to do is sneak looks at Lou. 

Louis drops his hand from the armrest, reaching forward a little. Liam tickles his palm. Louis’s mouth twitches. JJ Abrams is saying something fascinating at the front. Zoe Saldana’s dress looks fantastic. Simon Pegg is making faces at Zachary Quinto, who is nodding seriously but kicking Chris Pine’s shin. 

‘So this isn’t - technically - the world premiere,’ the director says, up front, and a fake gasp runs through the crowd. The stars mutter and shake their heads with smiles as he tells how Leonard Nimoy surprised fans at a con in Texas. 

Liam leans into Louis. He probably doesn’t need to lean that close to whisper, but they are on a date. ‘That is the coolest thing ever. Maybe we should have gone to Texas.’

Louis laughs quietly, biting a knuckle, and they’re the worst, the actual worst. They shouldn’t be allowed out of the house. They’re disrespecting the film, oh god. ‘But don’t you just love Australia?’

Liam is an actor. He can control his face. He can. He wraps his hand around Lou’s knee, spares a look for how good the light trousers make his thighs look (the answer is _very_ ) and turns back to the front. ‘Yeah. Great place. You find out all sorts of interesting things.’

Louis’s lips curve into a pleased smile and he slides as far as he can over to the edge of his armrest and covers Liam’s hand with his own. 

When the lights go down, Liam watches them drain out of the room along the edge of Louis’s jaw. Within the first ten minutes Louis’s hand is clutching Liam’s own and he doesn’t let go for the whole thing.

*

Except now that they’re getting in the lift to the hotel room _after_ the film -

The car was quiet. The lift is quiet. Liam is worried; Louis treats films like he treats meetings. He wants an instant recap and deconstruction, wants to talk over what bits were best and whether liked this or that stunt or scene. (Liam wonders feverishly if that’s how Louis treats things like sex too. Whether they might get around to that. Whether it’ll be a learning process with a lot of … stages.)

But he doesn’t want to assume. 

Assuming is bad. 

They did fly for a long time. Jet lag is horrible. 

(Though Louis is running on more sleep than him. He left Louis asleep on a couch with his mouth open and the sun warming his back like a cat when Pegg dropped by to drag him out for a lunchtime pint ‘with his accent’ and Quinto had come to find them. He doesn’t know how Louis got them into the same hotel as the cast, but Liam’s pretty sure he had hearts in his eyes the entire lunch.) 

Which is a point: they could be at the cast party right now. The one in the hotel that’s supposed to be a secret but everyone was talking about how they wanted cupcakes with Starfleet badges on them at 3am when they got the munchies, so that would be a ‘no’ on secret.

Liam slings his jacket over the back of the couch like he always does and watches Louis distractedly pick it up with a quick roll of his eyes in his direction. So Louis isn’t totally out of it, then, because Liam can still annoy him by abusing Armani. Liam doesn’t drink much himself, but he feels like a vodka and coke might be in order. 

He mixes up two as Louis toes his shoes off by the door to the second room in the suite and mutters darkly about his phone charger. There’s a whirlwind of clothes and god knows what flying out of the suitcase, then another, and then Louis pulls the Blackberry charger out of his satchel, which sat by the room door the whole time, of course. 

It’s all... familiar. It makes something in Liam’s chest ache. If only Louis was smiling, or telling shit jokes about the film, it would be... 

It’d be some kind of perfect, really. 

Louis emerges from the room he’s just made a tip in and closes the door like Liam won’t have to look at it that way. Liam rolls his eyes. Of course he’s going to have to look at it. His clothes are in there, too, but he might just grab the first things that look like they might fit from the floor in the morning. 

Louis hovers by the couch, twisting his hands behind his back. Liam knows this because the muscles in his arms under his shirt shift as he does it. There’s a beautiful view of Sydney at his back, but he doesn’t really look. 

Liam didn’t appreciate all the travelling they get to do until Louis started grabbing him by the chin and pointing his face out of windows, or saying ‘oh of course we are’ when Liam asked if they were allowed to go into Tokyo or Paris between flights, as if it weren’t a hassle at all. 

But Liam isn’t looking at the view. He’s looking at Louis’s shoulders, how rigid and high they are, and the way his hands are twisting, still, behind his back. So he lifts the tumblers. Their bases are reassuringly heavy in his hands, like proper grown up glasses for proper grown ups. Which he supposes they sort of … are. 

Louis does the thing where he doesn’t look like he’s looking at anything, but Liam feels his eyes on him as he crosses the room. It’s like he’s _spooked_ and Liam doesn’t know what he did, but he hopes he can fix it. 

So he sits the glasses on the table at the end of the couch and stands in front of Louis, ignoring all of Sydney laid out behind him with sparkling lights through the floor to ceiling window. Then he puts two fingertips on Lou’s left elbow and slides them down along his forearm, watching Louis swallow hard when his hand finds the edge of his shirt cuff and the skin there. Lou’s pliant and still while Liam lifts his hand to put the cool glass in it.

He lifts an eyebrow at Liam. Liam raises his own glass. ‘Cheers?’

It coaxes something like a small smile out of Lou, who leans his head forward and nods. ‘Cheers.’ 

The clink of the glass is loud in the suite. 

‘The film was good, Li,’ Louis says quietly and urgently. ‘It was so good. It’s going to do so well.’

‘It is,’ Liam replies, because, yes. It was. There were lens flares and time travel and if he thinks about the effects too much, tries to really picture something the size of a star blowing up, his head hurts. The first ten minutes were the most emotionally devastating thing he’s seen since _Up_ and _Finding Nemo._ And the end credits were so cool. ‘I’m really happy for them? I mean, it’s great for Pegg and he’s been getting bigger in the States, but-’

Louis lets out a noise of frustration, sits his glass down several inches left of the coaster on the glass and moves away, hands flailing. Now that Liam’s thinking about it, Louis makes a lot of wordless noises in his direction, like he can’t find words for how annoyed Liam makes him sometimes. It used to baffle Liam. Now he just sort of enjoys it. It means there’s stuff left to learn, because he never knows what he’s done this time. 

Louis spins on a bare heel and balances his palms on the opposite arm of the sofa, looking up at Liam through hair that’s starting to fall out of the swoop. Liam wants to help it along, if he’s honest, preferably with both of his hands. Louis always dresses so neat when he tries. ‘You could have been in it! You could be getting even bigger in the States! I stole you from that film! _That_ exact film!’

_Oh._

Liam blinks, then takes a quick sip of his own glass, because his mouth is bone dry. He misses the coaster when he sets it down, probably, because there’s a sound like glass on glass, but he’s not looking at that. He’s looking at the part where Louis’s hair brushes his collar at the back, because he’s got his head down between his hands. The skin there is tanned. 

He walks around the side of the couch, wiping his hands on his own dark trousers as he goes, and there’s something in his stomach fluttering and his pulse is pounding in his ears. 

‘This, now, really?’ he says, tugging Louis’s arm right by his elbow so the line of his arm has to break, and stop looking so sharp and tense. 

Louis jumps, then swears at him. ‘When did you get so close?’ 

Liam shrugs. ‘You weren’t paying attention.’ Liam looks him in the eye and tugs again, so Louis’s forced to let go of the couch arm and face him. ‘Anyway. This?’

Louis rolls his eyes. ‘Yes, this. You said it would be the biggest thing in 2009 and _it’s my fault_ you’re not in it. I’m man enough to admit my mistakes, Payner, and this is one of them.’ 

Liam wants to shake him like an errant pup or something. ‘Rather be here, to be honest. Don’t see anything wrong with what I’ve got right here.’ 

Louis looks up at him. Liam wishes he had some better kind of speech but that’s why he takes Louis into meetings; he’s shit at that part unless it’s scripted, and he didn’t see this part coming.

‘That’s sappy as fuck, Li,’ Louis says, but his mouth’s twitching at the corners and he’s bouncing on the heels of his feet just a little. 

 

‘Yeah, I know,’ and Liam’s not done. Liam reaches both hands up to cup Louis’s face, hands warm on his warm neck, and kisses him. It’s not a hard kiss, just a brush of his lips against Louis’s, but it makes his heart hammer and Louis groans. They were going on a _date,_ Liam thinks, awestruck. They’ve _gone_ on the date. Liam grins into the kiss and pulls away a bit, whispering against the sharp line of Louis’s cheek, ‘I love you, you know.’

He kisses Lou’s closed eyelids and watches his eyes open in extreme close up. They’re as blue as he thought they were at 6am in LAX years before. 

‘And you were right about the film. Back then,’ he breathes against Louis’s cheekbone, and Louis laughs at last, a bit helplessly. The line of his shoulders loosens. 'I couldn't have made it fit; my diary was mad.'

‘Know the way to my heart, do you? Tell me I was right all along?’ Louis says, smiling, bringing his own hands up. One covers one of Liam’s and the other threads through the back of his hair to pull him back in. 

This time it’s harder, Louis's mouth insistent and thank god he’s getting with the programme as well. 

‘You usually are,’ Liam says against his mouth, kissing him between words and darting back. 

Louis lets out another groan and grabs him by the collar of his jacket. Liam not sure if he’s tugging Liam down or pulling himself up. ‘Careful, I’ll hold you to that.’ 

‘Better distract you quick, then,’ Liam says, and they both giggle. It occurs to him that if sex with Louis is anything like everything else with Louis, there’s going to be a lot of laughing. That’s new. Louis laughs all the way through unbuttoning Liam’s shirt. It’s amazing how many things Louis can do at once. Liam wants to try them all. 

‘Love you, too, by the way. In case you were wondering.’ Then Louis’s neat hands are slipping over the shirt, working the buttons open, and pushing it over his shoulders down to his elbows. Liam frowns and kisses him again, biting his lower lip a little when Louis pushes the shirt sleeves down insistently. His hands are busy touching Louis’s face. The shirt will wait. 

Louis leans forward to put his forehead against Liam’s and pushes the shirt down so it bunches at Liam’s elbows - he’s going to _ruin_ it - and Liam pulls back to glare at him. ‘Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do this?’

Louis looks up at him incredulously. ‘Yes, I really, really do. Kind of the plan what with the _undressing_ you.’

‘No,’ Liam says, rolling his eyes. ‘This.’ He moves his hands up into Lou’iss hair, heels of his hands sitting under Louis’s ears and fingers threading through his hair. His head rolls back for a second, giving Liam a perfect look at the line of this throat and he dips down to lick that tendon of muscle of that’s been torturing him for years.

Louis pulls him forward with a rough groan and turns them so Liam’s sitting on the arm of the couch. 

All the comfy, expensive furniture Australia has to offer and they’re on the edge of a fucking couch. They’re not even _on_ the couch. But then Louis squirms so he’s got one leg between Liam’s legs and Liam tugs at him to kiss him hard, mouths opening against each other. It’s messy and urgent, but, well, _three years._ He’s allowed. The couch arm is fine. Really fine. Brilliant, actually. 

‘Now mine,’ Louis says, ‘it’s hot in here, in case you haven’t noticed.’

‘I’d noticed,’ Liam replies, and really, really, Louis should stop talking. Except Louis’s got some fascination with his abs and keeps running his fingertips up and down Liam’s chest like he’s never seen them before. It’s making Liam want to grab his hand and put it right on his nipples, because he keeps just touching and darting on. It’s infuriating and wonderful all at once. ‘You’re always telling me what to do.’

‘You’re always doing it,’ Louis says against Liam’s neck. ‘Shirt off, please. Do I have to do it myself?’

No, he really doesn’t, and Liam slides his hands from Louis’s jaw down to his braces, just like he wanted to. He doesn't push them down, not just yet, and gets his hands around the curve of Louis’s waist, then runs one hand down his spine over his shirt. He can’t see Louis’s tattoos through the dark material even it’s right against his skin, but he knows they’re there. At least there’s no vest layer to deal with. Louis shivers against him and Liam runs his hand up his back again; Louis carries all his stress in his shoulders. He groans and leans forward, burying his head in the crook of Liam’s neck. 

‘And you tell me I work too hard,’ Liam mutters darkly, rubbing one hard circle between Louis’s shoulder only _partly_ to hear him moan again.

‘You do.’

‘Well, at least-’ 

Whatever Liam’s about to say vanishes from his brain because not only is Louis balancing himself on palms that are warm against Liam’s bare chest, he’s got his mouth pressed to Liam’s neck right under his jaw near his birthmark. It’s going to leave a bruise, but Liam can’t bring himself to care, because it feels so _good. _Sharp and just on the edge of hurting and _good.___

__When Louis stands back a little, it’s with a pleased expression and a reddened mouth that Liam wants to kiss again. ‘Someday I’m going to have to have you give me a massage,’ Louis says, grinning._ _

__‘I’d like that,’ Liam says, quietly. Louis takes a sharp breath and puts two fingers under his chin, tilting it up, then slides their mouths together. Liam lets him take the lead, though there’s not much ‘let’ about it, and undoes the buttons of Louis’s shirt while Louis kisses him senseless._ _

__He doesn't push Louis’s shirt off like he did his, he likes the contrast of the dark material and Louis's tanned skin. Likes how the braces keep the shirt in place even as Liam pulls it free from Louis's trousers and leans down to press his teeth against Louis's chest piece. He can can feel Louis grip at his side, hard, so hard he thinks he might bruise, but he doesn't care about that. All that matters is how Louis's collarbones feel so delicate under the ink and Liam's lips._ _

__He bites, not so gently and revels in how Louis's entire body arches into Liam's._ _

__'Fuck, fuck, fuck.' Louis shoves him away just then, breathing hard, his eyes dark and mouth red, and fists his hands in Liam's shirt. He pushes it off completely and tosses it somewhere to the side. His shirt is still hanging by his shoulders, the material only being held up the braces and Liam can see the line of his erection straining against the pale material of his trousers; felt it against own thigh only seconds ago and he wants that back; the feeling of Louis, all of Louis, pressed against him._ _

__'Come back here,' Liam says, hears the rough rasp of his voice and pulls Louis back by one the braces. His fingers brush against the soft curve of Louis's stomach and thumbs button of the trousers. Louis gasps and his hand scramble to cover Liam’s shoulders. He kisses Liam again, filthy and wet. He scratches down Liam's arms and sucks hard on Liam's tongue. Liam can’t help but imagine Louis doing the same on Liam’s cock. Can’t help but flip the image and imagine doing the same to Louis._ _

__His hips buck up and fuck, yes, those are Louis's hips pushing back and as if by silent and mutually horny decision their hands are fumbling against the other's trousers and it's not a race, but._ _

__'God, I want to suck you off,' Liam says. Louis's hand fists against Liam's hips where he's pulling Liam's trousers down and it gives Liam that extra second to push Louis's trousers open, his dick springing free because fuck, Louis apparently wasn't wearing anything under the - God, Liam spent the entire film with only one layer between his hand and Louis’s cock, and fuck, if he’d known they would have never left the hotel room earlier._ _

__

__He gives Louis one slow stroke that has him cursing, teeth closing over Liam’s shoulder._ _

__‘You absolute fuck, Liam,’ he mouths against Liam’s skin. ‘You cheated.’_ _

__Liam strokes him again, faster and grins when Louis bucks into his hand. Liam’s dick twitches in his trousers but he ignores it. Right now all he wants to see is Louis come apart over him, _because_ of him. ‘Learned from the best, didn’t I? And you love it.’ He tugs at Louis’s shirt, which by some grace is still half on, and Louis seems to get the hint because he’s pulling the material away. One of his braces goes off his shoulder, the other only hanging on by some sort of miracle and yes, this everything Liam’s wanted for years. He squeezes Louis’s dick a little, watches it get harder and smears the precome that’s leaking out, slowing his hand down. Louis bends into him like a bow and the curve of his back must look amazing, Liam thinks absently, slipping his other hand down Louis’s back and cups his arse. He wants to see Louis’s back curving under him. He wants to lick that line Louis’s spine must give. _ _

__The thought has him groaning, cock thickening against where his and Louis’s thighs are pressed together, and he tightens his grip on Louis. Pulls him closer so he’s properly riding Liam’s thigh._ _

__He thinks he might be going too fast, he’s being too rough, but Louis hands only grip him harder and tighter and pushes himself further into Liam. His dick brushing against Liam’s stomach each time Louis’s thrusts up. The braces are swinging by his thighs where they’re shoved Louis’s trousers down past his arse and it’s better than any fantasy Liam pretended to forget about after he would wank in the shower. He’s practically straddling Liam against the couch arm and Liam probably should be worried they might tip over, but he can’t. He can’t think about anything but making Louis (finally) fall apart against him._ _

__Louis’s gasping, mouth against Liam ear, telling him all the things he wants Liam to do to him, all the things _he_ wants do to Liam and it would be embarrassing to come first just from Louis’s mouth, but fuck. Yes, yes to everything. _ _

__He reaches up and tugs at Louis’s hair, tilting his head back and kisses him hard to shut him up, because fuck _Louis_. Louis’s mouth. Liam wants all of it. He forgoes the hold he has on Louis for a second and reaches between them, grabbing at his own dick where it’s so hard it almost hurts and lines them up to stroke them together, squeezing hard, his own precome slicking them up even more and then-- _ _

__Louis is biting at Liam’s lips, gasping as he comes against their stomachs, fingers digging hard enough to bruise at Liam’s shoulder and side. He buries his face in Liam’s neck. Liam can feel the edge of Louis’s teeth against his skin as he shudders and Liam works him through his orgasm, turning his head and pressing messy kisses mostly at Louis’s temple and hair. It doesn’t take him that long after to come, grinding his hips against Louis’s, stroking himself hard and fast, and making an even bigger mess between them. Louis seems to have regained some strength and lifts both arms to wrap around Liam’s neck and Liam has the feeling he’s the only one holding them both up against the couch arm as Louis leans all his weight against him. He leans back and drops soft, warm kisses against Liam’s jaw and neck. Liam wraps an arm around Louis’s waist to lever him up closer, also to keep him from sliding to the floor. He shifts on the couch arm, tries to steady his legs._ _

__‘Lou,’ Liam breathes, reaching up and cupping Louis’s jaw, turning his face to him._ _

__Louis looks blissed out and gorgeous and Liam’s only a little afraid that he’s gonna fall asleep on Liam against the couch._ _

__‘You didn’t suck me off,’ Louis says, slowly, almost lazily. Liam blinks._ _

__He blinks again and suddenly he’s laughing, kissing Louis's smirk and letting Louis push them both back onto the couch itself._ _

__The cushions feel blessedly cool against his heated skin and Louis crawl over him, curling up on his chest, breathing deep. Liam grins. ‘Later, I promise.’_ _

__*_ _

__‘Wait, what?’ Liam says, sitting up._ _

__Louis gasps. He liked Liam’s mouth exactly where it was, which was wrapped around his dick. They’d made it to the couch - all three feet, by way of Louis _pushing Liam over the arm rest_ and climbing on him - and they’d managed to get all of their clothes off, Liam had flipped them over because he’s fit and handsome and Louis gets to wrap his legs around his hips now, and maybe the couch is taking a bit of damage, but Louis’s unconventional unpacking skills aside, they’ve never broken furniture before, so maybe they should try it. _ _

__Louis definitely wants to try it._ _

__And after half an hour of going from pleasantly over-sensitive to his dick getting interested - really interested - in things again, including in Liam's dick, Louis wanted to try anything that Liam was willing to do. Anything anywhere, because part of Louis still wasn’t over how Liam held them up against the couch up using his core muscles alone, _while_ getting Louis off, and fuck they need to get Liam some sort of superhero film._ _

__Liam pushed Louis gently into the soft, yielding cushions of the couch by putting both hands on his hip bones. They froze and Louis looked up at Liam just as Liam's eyelashes fluttered and he looked down at Louis's dick, hard against his stomach._ _

__From the look on Liam’s face as he slid down Lou’s body, the inside of his thighs against the outside of Lou’s legs every inch of the way, he would have been totally up for breaking furniture in the pursuit of awesome sex._ _

__Liam had paused, breath hot on Lou's dick and hand hovering. 'Can I-' Liam looked up at him, eyes wide and earnest, smile soft and God, Louis is fucked. He's completely fucked. 'I've been wanting to.'_ _

__Louis doesn't remember what he said, but it was clear and to the point and he's sure that putting his hand in Liam's hair and tugging just a little helped, because Liam slipped his mouth over the head of Louis's dick and sunk down further than Louis expected him to, lips stretched around him and eyelashes against his cheeks and fingers curling around the base of Louis's dick. Then Liam let out a sound around him and Louis couldn't help it, groaning and his hips jerking up a little._ _

__And if Liam’s mouth hadn’t been enough - God, his _mouth,_ when his lips were stretched like that, Louis was _unprepared_ for the sight, the sounds or the way his back moved as he let Louis move into his mouth and draw back - Louis realised suddenly that they could break the couch. They could break couches every night for the rest of their lives. Liam’s hands on his ass could be on his hips over the armrest, stretching the cheeks of his arse apart and they could break furniture _forever._ _ _

__Except Liam had gasped out-_ _

__‘Condom?’_ _

__Louis had gone still underneath him. Liam’s hands had tightened on Lou’s hips._ _

__‘I -’ Louis had slapped his head and then covered his eyes with his forearm. ‘We don’t have any.’_ _

__Liam had blinked up at him, and not in the sexy way he had a minute before, when his mouth had been put to better use than pointing out plot holes in the sex plan. Louis wishes he could go back to that. His dick is _right there._ _ _

__‘Wait, what?’_ _

__‘We don’t have any,’ Louis repeated, letting a little of the anguish into his voice. He shifts his hips under Liam’s hands. Really, he’s turned on enough that he could come just from this. He could. He understands why Liam is giving him a look, but his mouth is right there, his warm, big hand is right _there_ and Louis is about to shake out of his skin if he doesn’t -_ _

__‘Why don’t we have any? You have three suitcases -’_ _

__‘Two! One is definitely yours-’_ _

__‘Half the crap in it is yours.’_ _

__‘Whatever, oh my God, this is not the point.’_ _

__Liam sits up a little and puts an elbow on Louis’s hip. Is he fucking kidding. He’s kidding. Louis feels his feet kick. He knows Liam feels his feet kick, because he’s aiming for Liam’s bare shins._ _

__‘You’re telling me we have useless tiny bottles of body lotion -’_ _

__‘Like we always do, it’s a hotel.’_ _

__‘More towels than John Lewis -’_ _

__‘Hotel,’ Louis repeats, raising a hand to count how many times this idiocy is going to go on. Honestly, it’s like Liam’s forgotten they’re _naked._ Naked and pressed up against each other all over. Louis wriggles a little, hoping to remind him. His dick is also feeling quite neglected._ _

__Liam swallows, eyes fluttering down the length of Louis’s body. Good. Louis was getting a bit worried that his fingers, toes and bits were next on the bloody inventory. ‘-and not a single condom.’_ _

__Except Liam’s voice is a tiny bit unsteady at that and Louis narrows his eyes. He can work with this. He can definitely work with this._ _

__‘Not a single one,’ he says cheerily, sitting up on both elbows. ‘You know where we are?’_ _

__Liam rolls his eyes. ‘Is it a hotel?’_ _

__‘You win the prize! Correct!’ Louis grins and reaches down, tangling a hand in Liam’s hair. Liam swats him away but he’s laughing against Louis’s abdomen and damn, if that isn’t all kinds of distracting. His breath is really warm. His mouth is really soft. Louis is really ticklish, sort of, yup, right there, and especially when he’s turned on, and he’s - yep - he’s definitely turned on again. ‘What do hotels have, Liam?’_ _

__‘Not condoms,’ Liam answers instantly. Bitterly, some might say._ _

__‘Beds, Li, they have _beds,’_ Louis answers, like he’s describing a cave of wonders instead of Liam’s usual accommodation. ‘And baths. Think I saw a really big bath through there.’_ _

__Liam is giving him a look._ _

__‘And we don’t leave for _days,’_ Louis finishes, a bit proud. Liam’s still looking at him. Louis takes a breath. He really needs Liam to get back on the sex programme and soon. Really. He’s not going to get cold on the couch because they’re in Australia, but he’d be much less likely to get cold ever again if more of naked Liam were touching more of naked him. _ _

__‘Liam,’ Louis says slowly, sitting up and pulling Liam up by the chin so he’s sitting forward on his knees, Louis’s legs around his. Louis kisses his way along his jaw until he’s whispering in his ear, just because. ‘We’re relatively young lads, we can fuck in every single room of this place three times over before we leave. Have you ever done that in a hotel suite? I’ve never done that in a hotel. We could do that in a hotel. This one to be specific.’_ _

__Liam swallows hard enough Louis can hear his jaw click. His hands are moving again, and that’s much better. Louis is going to the biggest pharmacy in Sydney in the morning and buying them out of condoms, even the stupid flavours. That is what he is going to do. He’d make a note, but his Blackberry is in his pocket and his trousers are far away. Well. They’re past the couch - and past naked Liam - and everything beyond naked Liam is officially too far away._ _

__Liam’s giving him a look that’s positively dangerous for Louis’s blood pressure. ‘So we don’t have to do everything tonight?’_ _

__‘We really don’t,’ Louis says, even though he wants to, actually, but apparently that would mean getting dressed and going outside of the suite, and if he’s thinking about the lesser of two evils, he’s going to keep Liam right here. He means to say it sounding all sexy and confident, like they’re in one of Liam’s films, but actually, he sounds a bit wrecked himself. It’s not his fault one of Liam's secret skills (definitely _not_ on his talents list) is giving fucking excellent blowjobs. _ _

__Liam doesn’t say anything, but he does bend and cover Louis’s dick again with his ridiculous mouth, sucking deep and slow making Louis groan and drop back against the couch, because really none of the fantasies he’s ever made himself forget he’s had about Liam can measure up to having his mouth around Louis’s dick for real. Then, the bastard, pops back up and stretches - and keep stretching, there’s a lot of him, really, Louis knew that already, he swears he did that he almost forgets to curse because why is Liam moving away from his cock - until he’s shifted both of them and he’s lying stretched out along Louis’s side on the couch. It’s a good couch. Like the ones he picked for the London house. Bloody massive cushions, long enough that Liam can lie out along them and his feet and toes can not be touching the end._ _

__Which._ _

__Louis almost misses what Liam says right in his ear because he’s just short-circuited his own brain: the London house is going to have six couches. Six. They’re going to fuck on every single one if Louis has anything to say about it, yes they are. And the home office, every bit of it._ _

__

__‘Maybe we should slow down, then,’ Liam says, eyes innocent but his pupils are blown and keep darting to Louis’s lips. From this close, Louis can see he’s trying not to grin._ _

__Louis stares at him, then tweaks his nipple. ‘Arse.’ Turns out it gets an entirely different response when they aren’t trying to get through expenses spreadsheets. Who knew? Liam groans and presses his palm to Louis’s cheek, turning his face to Liam’s, then kisses him properly, tongue and all, til Louis can’t think straight. He just knows he’s got to get as much of his own skin touching Liam’s as he can, so he turns until he’s got his legs tangled with Liam’s - or, well, that’s his genius plan, but._ _

__‘Not yet,’ Liam says. And what. Louis knows Liam’s the actor because he’s got a poker face gifted to him by the gods, but this is ridiculous. There’s no way Liam’s not as turned on as he is. Liam’s the one who got pissed off they didn’t have condoms before they’d even finished foreplay; Louis would really like to know whether Liam was feeling annoyed that he wasn’t going to fuck Louis, or whether he was annoyed that Louis wasn’t going to fuck him. He’s good with both - that might be an understatement - but he wants to know what Liam wants to try _first.__ _

__But apparently Liam Payne is a bloody tease. This would be the worst news in world, if it wasn’t the best._ _

__‘What do you-’ Louis starts, but Liam’s got a grip on his hips. He’s got _one hand_ stopping Lou’s hips from bucking up - good to know, Liam can hold him down with one hand, all this time Lou’s been fantasising he’d need _both_ \- and then he wraps his hand around Louis’s dick again and well, fuck if that’s not pro-active of him. _ _

__Louis lets out a groan. It’s probably a good thing they aren’t going to actually fuck on the couch tonight; Louis is seconds from losing it just from Liam’s thigh in between his legs, the friction of his hand, which is dry and a bit rough, on his dick, and Liam’s mouth working over his neck before he finds his mouth again. Louis didn’t know Liam knew what some of the words he’s hissing into his mouth even _meant_ but he’s glad he’s not the only one with ideas for the rest of the week. At this rate they’ll need a tick list and maybe a multiple choice menu, Christ. _ _

__Louis nearly loses it when Liam licks his palm before wetting it on his pre-come, saying something utterly filthy about wanting to see Louis’s hands on the rim of the bathroom sink while he’s at it. He wants to remind Liam that he’s the multi-tasker, but he’s too busy swearing into Liam’s neck. He’s probably making a mess of his neck. He doesn’t care. It’s not like Lou’s intending to let Liam leave the hotel room to get papped again for _days.__ _

__Louis would like to be reciprocating - Liam’s whole attention is a bit overwhelming, if he’s honest, because it’s _Liam_ and it’s Liam making him feel like he’s about to shake apart - but when he reaches for Liam’s dick, which is hard against his thigh, Liam shakes his head and pushes his hand away. Louis’s fine with being the centre of attention, likes it, even, but he’d like to be taking Liam with him. _ _

__Then Liam speeds up and keeps talking in his ear about all the things he’s spent three years _wishing_ they could do, and it’s a list as long as Louis’s, and that’s it for him: everything turns white (again) and Louis hears a shout, then realises it’s him, it’s his hand wrapping around Liam’s neck to drag him into an attempt at a kiss as he comes between them, and the couch is a fucking goner. _ _

__He can feel sweat at the back of his neck as he arches off the couch cushions. Liam's eyes follow him back down, mouth parting slightly and biting his lip, and Louis comes down enough until all he can hear in the room is his own heavy breathing - and Liam's._ _

__Louis feels gross but amazing. There's a lot of sweat and come in the living room, his legs are shaking on the couch and he can't catch his breath._ _

__'Fuck,' Liam says, watching him, and Louis doesn't know if he's got any blood left in his upper body to blush with, but he feels his cheeks heating up. He's seen Liam looking out of posters with looks like that and wondered how people drive past billboards without crashing, but it's something else so close, so focused. 'You looked-'_ _

__Liam licks his lips and Louis feels how hard Liam is against his thigh. Liam was so busy getting him off the first time - _the first time,_ Jesus Christ, Louis isn't sure he's fit enough for this - that Louis missed watching him on the edge. His pupils are dark and there isn't a trace of his usual sweet smile; he's breathing shallow and quick, and his hair is damp against his forehead. _ _

__'Fuck, Liam, you _look_ -' Louis manages to choke out, turning to get his hands on Liam's face, pull that look further to him. Louis takes a breath and kisses him hard, gasping as Liam turns them and pulls them up with unsteady arms so Liam's back is against the arm of the couch and Louis's straddling him. Again. Louis expects it's a bit easier than holding them up against the arm of the couch from standing and he's glad because they're both shaking. Liam's thighs are trembling when he bends his knees so his thighs are against Louis's arse. _ _

___Desperate,_ Louis thinks, finishing the thought as Liam grabs the back of his neck and pulls him down roughly for a kiss, then rakes his mouth and teeth roughly over Louis's neck, right where the vein is, and his collarbones. Louis shifts, feels Liam's hips buck up against him, looking for any kind of friction. _Wrecked,_ Louis thinks, looking down on him, realising that Liam is like this because of _him,_ because of watching Louis come. _ _

__Liam's hand reaches for his own dick and Louis narrows his eyes. Not a chance, not again, not on his watch. Liam just made him come his brains out twice like he's a teenager, not a Hollywood dinosaur by internet standards, there's no way Liam's getting himself off twice when Louis is all too happy to help._ _

__That said, Louis doesn't hold out much hope for getting down on his knees and staying there, and when he blows Liam, he wants to be better than good: he wants it to be the best blowjob Liam's ever had, until the next time Louis sucks him off._ _

__'Got you,' Louis says, curling his hand around Liam's larger hand and oh shit, Liam's hand, it's so _much_ bigger than his. He knew that, but there's knowing it and seeing Liam's hand around a dick right under Louis's legs. He's pretty sure he can't possibly get hard again but Louis is feeling oversensitive in _his brain:_ there's too many visuals, too much to take in. Liam lets go with a groan, tilting his head back and leaving his neck open for Louis to mouth up and down it, grazing the skin with his teeth while he gets a hand around Liam's dick properly. It's heavy and hot in his hand, like the heat under Lou's skin, and his arm starts to shake after a few rough, hard strokes._ _

__'Want to hear you,' Louis says against Liam's chest, back starting to ache as he bends to get his mouth and teeth around Liam's nipple. He tongues it, curving his tongue around the hot skin there until Liam's chest is heaving underneath him and his voice is cracking on the groans he's letting out over and over. 'Come on, you can-'_ _

__Liam says his name, except it's a string of broken syllables and Louis swallows hard. Liam gets his hands on Louis's hips and grips, dragging his thighs against Louis's to feel the friction of the hairs and hot skin there. And oh- Louis can do that. He can absolutely do that. His legs are shaking and his thigh muscles are protesting really quite loudly, but he can do it. He tightens his thighs around Liam's and moves with him, timing the roll of his hips and his strokes to Liam fucking up into his hand, and grabs Liam's chin with the other hand. He wants to see when Liam comes._ _

__Liam's close; he's biting his lip and got his eyes closed, his movements are starting to lose their rhythm, and Louis leans down to lick along his mouth until Liam's mouth falls open with a sound Louis's never heard on camera. Liam thrusts up into his hand one more time before he comes, and Louis watches him fall apart, leaning his forehead down onto Liam's and stroking him through it. He feels Liam's hand on his back, warm and curling the fingers into the skin just a little, and realises that later, when they've had actual sleep and get all the condoms in Sydney, he can ride Liam just like this, slow and sure, as many times as they want._ _

__*_ _

__Louis's plans to have sex for breakfast, lunch and dinner take a hit when he stretches his arms and legs, turning onto his stomach in the bed the next day._ _

__He woke up alone, but he usually does when he falls asleep with Liam. The only thing really different was the naked part. At least the sheets were less disgusting than they could be: they'd stumbled into the tidy bedroom (Liam’s) from the couch once they'd gotten their breath back and oh, yes. The couch. Louis has the sad feeling that it might have been beige, the kind that shows up stains._ _

__Louis is very, very glad he doesn't have to expense _that_ on a spreadsheet between four new Blackberries anymore. That would have been terrifically awkward. _ _

__The shower stops running through the door to the en suite. Louis hopes Liam wasn't hoping Louis would join him for an athletic morning workout because much as he'd really like to - he's got the idea of blowing Liam into his head now that he's had his hand around his cock and wondered how its weight would sit on his tongue - he doesn't trust his legs to take him there. It’s been a while since Louis has had sex with someone almost all night long and his body is reminding him of the fact right now. They didn’t even get to the best bits. Louis's mind goes a little blank thinking about what it will be like when they do. He can’t wait._ _

__Liam emerges in a towel looking like sex. Louis doesn't want Liam to think he's with him just for his body, but there's no two ways about it, now Louis is letting himself think the thoughts that were never very subtle in the first place. Louis hates that he's stuck somewhere between being too tired to move and wanting his hands back on Liam right this very second. So he does the next best thing and makes grabby motions and sits up. Liam rolls his eyes but blushes - he's adorable and seriously fucking hot, yet people wondered why Louis was so confused - and complies._ _

__'Hope you're not thinking of seducing me,' Liam says, running fingertips down Louis's side to the fingerprint bruises visible on his hip with a little bit of wonder in his eyes._ _

__'I had thought we could have sex instead of food and outside,' Louis replies, leaning up into the touch and tracing the bruises joining Liam's birthmark on his neck. He grins; damn if he didn't do a good job on those. 'But apparently, Payner, I'm fucking ancient.'_ _

__Liam laughs and yawns, then looks guilty. 'Sorry.' He ducks his head and says, casually, 'Think I might skip my workout, if that's all right.'_ _

__Louis laughs, because that's the most fucking ridiculous thing he's ever heard. 'Oh no, don't skip your workout because of sex. Don't get me off twice in a night again.' Then he frowns and sits up on his heels - his thigh muscles could like that better than they do - and takes Liam's freshly-shaved jawline in his cupped hands just in case Liam thinks he means it. 'I didn't mean that. When we're not jetlagged, and fucked out, we should get off all the time. On every bed that comes our way.'_ _

__Liam smiles slowly and the towel knot falls away. He gets his arms around Louis and crawls back into bed over him. Louis tells his dick to behave; just because Liam's all shower-fresh and his cool skin on Louis's is enough to make him shiver doesn't mean either of them can stay awake long enough for another round. And intense, athletic, and surprisingly fun sex with Liam is not something Louis wants to half-arse. He wants Liam trembling under him like he made Louis last night, twice._ _

__

__'We should fuck all the time,' Liam replies, yawning again. And oh yes, he didn't have a nap in the afternoon, Louis remembers, then slides up the bed and tugs Liam's hand. Liam turns on his side and puts his head - damp hair and all - on Louis's chest with a murmured thanks. Louis tangles his feet in Liam's, one hand pressed to his lower back. It feels like Liam's legs fit along his, like his hand curls over his shoulder just right, and apart from the naked part, it's so familiar and right that Louis swallows._ _

__The motion makes Liam open an eye sleepily, then lean up to kiss his cheek - or try. He mainly gets the corner of his jaw, but he tries again with a soft frown between his eyebrows and then a pleased, small smile when he presses his mouth to Louis's cheekbone. He keeps his mouth there until Louis turns to meet it for a kiss and sighs into it before dropping his head tiredly._ _

__That's new, though, Louis thinks, toes curling and his hand tightening around Liam like he could disappear in a puff of smoke. He kisses the top of Liam's head and then leans his own head against his._ _

__*_ _

__Before all the sex; all the glorious, wonderful, now fully condom and lubed sex there had been a plan for Australia. It’d been a loose plan. A quick holiday really for Liam to relax before he had to go back to London and start post for _Castle Walk_ since he finally had a few weeks off. The plan had included doing all the sporty things Liam liked doing and that Louis enjoyed tagging along to because they alway had fun together. _ _

__A lot of those things had to be cancelled and rescheduled, because, well, Louis was a firm believer that if you had Liam ready and willing to be in your bed for extended period of time you did not let him leave._ _

__They did keep thing on the list though._ _

__Which was why here they were now, on a long stretch of beach, full of tourists who didn’t really care about two more surfers getting take off into the waves._ _

__It isn’t the first time they’ve gone surfing, together even. Back on the _Sea Prince_ shoot he and Liam would take Harry to the beaches on their days off and while Harry had spent most of his time lying in the sun, reading under the shade, happily cheering and taking pictures of them, he and Liam has spent their time trying to outdo each other on the waves. Over the years they’ve kept up the hobby. Days off when in L.A. sometimes spent up driving up to Malibu or Zuma. Rarely when on location, though they did take a few of Liam’s days off during the World War II shoot to make their way up to Barcelona when filming in Spain for a few days at the beach. _ _

__And right now Louis is happily watching Liam duck dive as he goes for his fifth wave of the day. Their unofficial competition to see who catches the most waves is unofficially dead - having officially ended on the last day of the _Sea Prince_ shoot - but Louis is proud to say he’s three rides up on Liam, even as it looks like Liam is going to catch up as he drop in on the wave and Louis bites his lip as he watches Liam’s arms flex as he pops up._ _

__He’s mostly just sitting and watching on his board, arms already aching a bit from all the paddling, but he’s willing to spend any amount of minutes out here watching Liam._ _

__These aren’t the heavy swells they saw in Hawaii that time they went for Liam’s birthday, but the wave Liam catches is smooth and he rides it almost lazily, back arching, the show off. Louis wants to push him off his board and cover salty lips with his own._ _

__Liam’s ride drops off with him falling back into the water and slipping back on his board, making his way to Louis. Louis paddles him a bit forward to catch him half way. His honour tells him he should paddle past Liam and catch his own awesome ride but Liam’s hair is dripping into his eyes and he’s smiling at Louis as he gets closer. Louis sits back up on his board and lets Liam join him. Liam bumps their shoulders._ _

__‘Good waves,’ he says, tilting his head at Louis._ _

__He nods. ‘Yeah, good waves.’ He pushes his hair back, sliding his eyes back to Liam, who is staring blatantly - good, this will make this all much easier - and adds, ‘Let’s head back to the hotel, I want to strip you of that wet suit and lick the water of your abs.’_ _

__Liam laughs, flushing bright in the already burning Australian sun, but his eyes flick down to Louis’s mouth and one of his hands reaches out and pinches Louis’s side._ _

__‘Yeah, okay, babe.’ He splashes at Louis and turns himself around, pumping his arms in the water already. ‘Race you to the beach!’ Louis curses but really can’t fault him. Liam is currently giving Louis an excellent view of his barely existent arse and Louis can’t wait to get his hands on it._ _

__‘You’re going to regret that, Payno!’_ _

__Liam throws a look over his shoulder, challenging, ‘I hope so!’_ _

__Louis laughs, padding faster. He always up for the challenges Liam gives him._ _

__By the time the get back to the hotel, Louis wastes no time pressing Liam against the bathroom door the minute they’re inside and alone, having sent Paul off. They’ve already switched out of the wetsuits but Liam, fuck Liam, his shirt is still half stuck on drying skin and that’s a layer too much between Louis’s mouth and Liam’s skin._ _

__‘Fuck wetsuit, fuck clothes,’ he murmurs against Liam collarbones as they wrestle his shirt off and he can feel Liam grinning as he pulls down both their shorts. Louis licks a thick stripe down Liam’s chest, reveling in the salty taste Liam’s skin carries from the ocean and lowers himself on his knees. Liam’s breath stutters out, hands scrambling at Louis’s shoulder._ _

__And honestly, all Louis can think is: _fucking finally_ as he wraps his lips around lips cock and fuck, he tastes even better than he had last night, the salt water mixing in with his sweat, making Louis harder than he already was. Liam leans against the lip of the bathroom counter, wonderfully dirty things spilling from his lips as Louis sucks him down. It’s probably the greatest thing he’s learned about Liam since the night of the premiere. What fucking filthy mouth he has in bed. _ _

__He’s babbling above Louis, his hands warm and heavy at Louis’s neck, fingers curling into Louis’s hair when he moves his hands from Liam’s hips to his cock and strokes in tandem to his mouth. He curls his tongue the tip of Liam’s cock, almost pulling completely off as Liam’s says, ‘Your mouth and your fingers, I want them all over me, in me. Jesus Louis, I want everything.’_ _

__And well, Louis isn’t one deny Liam anything. They can’t do everything now but he can do _something_. He moves to suck Liam harder and deeper than before, one hand shift to stroke Liam’s balls and moving back until feels Liam’s hole with his finger. He doesn’t do much, just teases a little, but it’s enough for Liam who is pulling back from Louis’s mouth. Louis doesn’t let him and presses his finger just in a little as Liam comes thick and messy on Louis’s tongue._ _

__After, Louis lets Liam pull him back up on his feet - his knees are protesting marble floor and blow jobs - and into the shower where Liam more than reciprocates._ _

__*_ _

__Harry gets the twitter alert from Perez, because he can tell how badly the Perez and Louis feud is going by how much Perez posts about Liam, and by extension, bad angles of Louis's face in the corner. Apparently, it’s a good week, because Harry clicks the link next to 'Captain, _OH MY CAPTAIN'_ and there’s a picture. _ _

__Wait, no, there are _pictures_. Plural. _ _

__Of Liam Payne and 'his first mate' (Perez never types Louis's name if he can use something that sounds insulting instead). They're in Australia and they’re on a boat, which sounds a lot like a holiday, and Liam doesn't really ... take those ... much, so Harry mentally gives Louis an A plus on persuasion._ _

__Except. Persuasion. Because Louis is smiling, with sunglasses on, not one pixel of his face whited out for once, and Harry doesn’t even need to see Louis’s eyes to know. He knows that smile. It’s Louis’s special Liam smile. The one he normally tries to hide from Liam because it’s so bloody obvious even Louis knows it and he’s smiling right _at_ Liam, who is looking at Louis all soft and crinkly-eyed and Louis is curled up next to him like a cat in the sun-- _ _

__‘HOLY SHIT.’_ _

__The phone clatters against the kitchen’s counter top and Harry fumbles, apologises to it, and almost dropping it again, because._ _

__‘Oh my god, they fucked.’ Harry grins, clicking through to contacts and dialling Lady Lou, because holy shit. Can he even get flowers delivered to a yacht? Is that a thing? Cake? With 'congratulations on the sex' on top?_ _

__He doubts even Perez understood what he just shared with the world._ _

___God bless fucking Australia._ _ _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two of part five! this was our longest section it could have been a fic in itself, it took forever to get right. you don't understand the relief it is to let free where it can no longer haunt us!

_**5b. I've been looking at you too much** _

_(Harry is still 20.)_

*

‘Can you-’

Louis passes Liam the pack of crisps. He’s sitting next to Liam on the couch in the living room in the London house with his legs over Liam’s lap in case he has notions of moving or anything horrible like that. 

‘Thanks,’ Liam mutters, smiling up at Louis softly and taking the pack, fingers brushing Louis’s. Louis ducks his head. It’s every other Saturday night watching X-Factor they’ve ever managed - sometimes they weren’t even sure it was a Saturday, because of hopping on and off planes, but they’d pretended and loaded up the catch up on the telly at Louis's flat or in the hotel on a laptop anyway. 

Liam then reaches up and brushes Louis’s fringe back for no reason other than he seems to want to, eyes soft and serious, with his bottom lip just under his teeth and no more. 

Then Louis takes the crisps back and covers Liam’s steadying hand around his waist with his own when he leans back. Because he wants to. 

He might oversell the casual there, though, because Liam watches him until Louis meets his eyes and his grin might be a bit smug - must be, because Liam laughs at him and pulls him in tighter. Which is fine by Louis. 

Louis finds his mouth close enough to kiss the end of Liam’s nose, so he does. Liam huffs a laugh into Louis’s jumper over his shoulder and noses him back. 

‘Hey Liam,’ Louis whispers, like there’s anybody else in the ridiculous house to hear them, but the room feels cosy with just the lamp and the TV. 

‘Yes, Louis?’ Liam replies the same way, but he nips the edge of Louis’s ear and soothes it with his tongue while he’s there, and _oh,_ yes, that’s what Louis had in mind whenever he leaned in to whisper about tacky shoes at an event, it really was. 

‘Hmm,’ Louis says in the place of coherent thought. 

Liam gives him a smile that sets something warm and fluttery off in his chest and raises an eyebrow. Then he leans in slowly and does it again, and his tongue lingers longer, and he flicks it quickly before he moves back. Louis manages not to groan out loud - just. His breathing speeds up, though, and Liam knows it, because he has a hand on his chest like a serious doctor person. 

‘Sorry, Lou, you were saying something,’ Liam says against his neck. 

Louis grins and tilts his head back to let Liam press his mouth, open and warm and sucking lightly, along the underside of his jaw until he meets his ear again. He would reply - he will reply - but he’s too busy enjoying what Liam’s up to and enjoying Liam’s confident hands on his back. 

Sure, getting supplies in Sydney had been a complete _arse._ They’d argued for a good hour about who had to leave the bed first to put the DND sign on the door, then both ran for it at once completely starkers when they realised housekeeping were scheduled to come around soon, and _the couch,_ the clothes and the living room that probably smelled like sex. 

 

Of course, the adrenaline from that - 

Louis supposes they should probably be sorry about the wallpaper in the living room, too, but he had Liam’s entire naked body against his back pressing him up against a wall, so he’s not sorry, not at all. 

‘I was just going to ask you,’ Louis says, shifting so his ankle hooks around Liam’s side and tugs him to face Louis, then slides his elbow so that he’s got his arms round Liam. Liam’s taken to throwing on a tank top in the house. Louis doesn’t know why it’s worse than when he works out shirtless, but it is. At least it gives him something to tug Liam over with when the sight gets too much and he has to do something about it. 

‘Hmm,’ Liam says, and lifts a thumb to press it on Louis’s lower lip. ‘Was it very important?’

‘Probably,’ Louis replies. 

‘In a minute,’ Liam says, distractedly, and kisses him, tongue darting into his mouth like it’s the first time. 

It’s not the first time. In fact, Louis thinks they’ve had more sex than hot dinners in the last month, and more kisses than emails. 

The thing is: Louis is utterly gone for Liam. He knew that already - and according to eight texts from Harry in all caps, including the one that said _STOP SHAGGING & CALL YOUR MOTHERS U R MIA BTW I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU_, Harry knew that too. (Fuck Perez; he might not know what he was posting with those pap pics but seriously, he and Liam could have done with the extra day before Harry’s texts and emails started rolling in.) 

But, right, the thing is: Liam’s figured it out, too. He even seems to be on the same page. 

They managed to get supplies into the hotel room via Paul, who is a saint and god among men, and they will never have sex in his favourite car unless he’s absolutely in another country at the time. Then they spent the better part of a week making lists and checking them off on every flat surface in the hotel, then ordering room service, then forgetting about room service. 

If Louis thought Liam’s attention on him was overwhelming that first time, it’s nothing to how he feels now Liam’s confident about what he likes. Like the way he’s kissing Louis slow as all hell, hot as all hell, then pulling back just when Louis is starting to feel faint from it, pulling him back in just before he’s recovered. Louis loves being in control of chaos, but god if he doesn’t like being knocked off balance in the best way. 

 

‘You were asking,’ Liam says, mouth on his collarbone again, then kissing across his shoulder by way of tugging on the scoop neck. Louis isn’t sure why they bothered getting dressed, except Liam seems to like undressing him, so if he wants to do it multiple times in a day, Louis is going to make sure he has everything he needs to hand. He draws the line at underwear under the trackies though. That’s just going to slow things down at exactly the wrong time. 

Louis nods, pulling his thoughts back together. Turns out lazily kissing Liam is sort of an artform distinct from the rest of sex and bed. Turns out they like doing that if they have a few spare minutes while the kettle boils or the Netflix stream loads, even more than they like playing Angry Birds. Louis’s watched Liam and Harry disappear into iPhones for four years; he’s a bit smug about beating the games with his mouth, he’s not going to lie. 

He looks between Liam’s lovely brown eyes and the TV. ‘Are you watching this like even a tiny bit?

Liam grins and shakes his head. ‘I like watching you watch it. I’ve always liked watching you watch it.’ 

Louis lets out a laugh. God, they’re silly. They’ve been very silly. ‘I’m not as invested this year. My girls won last year; I can’t beat that, so I’m not going to try.’ 

Liam nods and tangles his fingers with Louis’s on his thigh. ‘We can keep watching?’

Oh, Liam does really like him, Louis thinks, because he’s got a leg over Liam and he can feel exactly how hard he is; there’s no way X-Factor’s winning this round. Louis stands up and hits the standby on the remote and Liam’s eyes light up. ‘Not as invested?’

‘Got something far better in mind,’ Louis says, tugging Liam’s hands up. He rises willingly and pliant, letting Louis drag him across the floor to the room they’re using as a bedroom. Liam’s got his eye on the big, light room on the top floor when the renovations are all done, and this will be guest room number five or six, but right now, all Louis cares about is that it has a really great bed. 

Liam tugs his hand - they’re still holding hands ever so lightly, like they don’t know the way through the house in the dark, and to be fair, they don’t yet - and turns him in the door to the bedroom. ‘What do you want to-’

‘Everything,’ Louis says, stepping forward quickly, pulling Liam’s head down until they’re kissing again, and Liam turns them into the bedroom and shuts the door behind them. Louis feels his back hit the wall near the light switch and reaches a hand up to push it on; it’s a dimmer switch for the overhead and it’s a damn sight closer than any of the lamps. He does like seeing every line and curve of Liam when they do things. 

‘Specific,’ Liam says, getting his hands under Louis’s t-shirt and hands roaming across his chest. Louis jerks up into Liam’s body as he finds a nipple and pinches it hard. That’s a trick Liam found quickly and hasn’t stopped since. Louis supposes he wasn’t hiding it particularly well. 

‘Always helpful- you know-’ Louis swallows the next word when Liam pinches his nipple again. He’s a fucker, he is. ‘You know,’ he says, feeling Liam slide a hand until it’s flat against the base of his back. ‘I keep thinking about the first afternoon in Sydney.’ 

Liam raises an eyebrow, crowding him into the wall. Louis sees him swallow. ‘You do.’

His voice has dropped at least an octave, and Louis feels his dick twitch in his trackies at the sound, and the way his arms are all around him. 

‘We didn’t -’ Liam ducks his head and looks back up through his lashes. ‘Think we can hold out this time?’

Louis’s never met a challenge he didn’t accept, so he nods, biting back a grin, feeling heat rise under his skin at the thought. Liam swallows again and pushes him against the wall, kissing him and Louis’s mouth opens to him. It’s hot and filthy and Louis sucks on Liam’s tongue until they’re breathing hard.

‘Yeah?’ Liam says, right under his earlobe.

Louis shifts from foot to foot, blood pounding in his ears. ‘Yeah.’ He wishes his voice were steadier but the worst thing about how they’re learning each other’s bodies in short order is that he knows how _good_ what Liam’s about to do is. 

‘Could move to the bed, if you-’ Liam doesn’t finish the sentence, because Louis gets a hand down his pyjama bottoms. He’s not wearing underwear, either. They’re geniuses, really. Louis cups a hand around his arse cheek and pulls him in. 

‘It was a _wall_ in Sydney,’ Louis says, squeezing.

‘Good point,’ Liam agrees. ‘We’re decorating this one anyway, right?’

Louis grins, kisses him again, and turns when Liam’s hands find his upper arms. 

‘Gonna need to hold yourself up,’ Liam says, and Louis braces himself against the wall with open palms. He feels his fingers curve against the wall when Liam’s warm breath is on his neck; he asked for this, he did, but he’s already itching to touch Liam again. 

‘I can do that, would you just-’

Liam laughs again. It’s amazing how quickly he’s started doing that, Louis thinks. When they started shagging, he’d actually hurry up when Louis asked; now he just takes it as a good review of what he was doing and keeps torturing Louis with his hands, or mouth, however slowly he liked. 

‘Think I might cheat,’ Liam says in Louis’s ear, running his hands up and down his sides. ‘Think I’ve got a better idea.’ 

Louis is caught between utter glee at how happy Liam sounds about this and screaming in frustration. Liam’s got his hard dick pressed right up against Lou’s arse with just two thin layers of cotton between them. He could stand to hurry the fuck up. 

Louis says as much. Liam ignores him. 

Thankfully, he does push Louis’s trousers down. When they go past his hip bones they drop right to the floor to pool around his ankles - they were Liam’s to begin with, and when Liam buys retail, the waist to length ratio is always a bit generous. 

Louis feels the cooler air on his calves, thighs and arse, and he feels Liam’s hands as they slide down the sides of his thighs, pressing filthy kisses to the back of his knees as he goes. 

Louis has a sudden feeling about what Liam’s better idea might be and lets out a sound. They’ve never done _that_ before. In fact, it’s been years since anyone did that to Louis. Oh, shit.

‘Gonna-’ Liam has his hands on Louis’s arse, spreading his cheeks. Liam’s face is flushed hot enough that when he kisses Louis’s arse cheek, Louis feels it. That, combined with the scratch of his stubble because they were both too lazy to shave this morning, makes Louis start to worry he might not be able to hold out as long as he thought he could. Not if Liam-

_’Fuck, shit, fuck,’_ Louis curses against the wallpaper. He might need to bite his own fist in a minute. Liam licks another stripe against his hole, dips his tongue in just a little, and pushes a finger past the ring of muscle there. Louis feels wrecked already, but Liam isn’t done. He circles his tongue around the rim, then pushes a fingertip in a little further, alternating until he can fuck Louis with his tongue and a finger at the same time, and Louis digs his nails into the wallpaper. 

‘Fuck, Liam, fuck,’ Louis says, again, because he’s not got words left. Liam keeps fucking him with his tongue and finger until Louis is gasping and his thighs are shaking, then tugs him back a little so he can push further in and get a hand between Louis and the wall. Louis is absolutely not going to last another minute if he keeps that up, but Liam starts stroking him hard, and _fuck._ Louis doesn’t ever want to know how he got so good at everything related to sex, Louis, and sex with Louis, but at the same time, he wants to know everything, as well as what else he can do. 

Louis rocks back against his mouth and fucks up into Liam’s fist, then groans and sags against the wall when Liam pulls back pressing a kiss the dip in Louis’s back. He chances a glance over his shoulder. ‘Liam, Christ.’

Liam’s sitting on the floor, leaning back on his arms, a dazed look on his face and grinning up at Louis. ‘I’ve always wanted to do that to you.’ 

Louis looks at him incredulously for a second. _’Liam.’_

Liam’s grinning, still, hair a mess and mouth red. His legs are straight and spread on either side of Louis’s, his hands flat on the carpet behind him. His dick is hard and straining against his thin pyjama bottoms. All his vest top straps are doing is make Louis want to suck and bite his nipples until he groans. Louis doesn’t know when Liam lost any and all shame he might have ever had, but fuck, he loves it when Liam’s like this. 

Louis turns and kneels in front of him to tilt his head up and goes in for a kiss. Liam frowns, pulling back. ‘You don’t mind-’

‘Fuck, no,’ Louis says emphatically, sliding to the ground and hooking his legs over Liam’s thighs. 

_’Oh,’_ Liam says, surprised, then he’s kissing Louis like he needs him to breathe. 

‘Liam,’ Louis says, nodding to the bed. 

Liam blushes and the flush goes down his neck as well. Louis stops. After everything they’ve done, Liam can still _blush._ He’s going to be the death of him, except he’s being fantastically helpful and stretching a hand under the bed, then into a box there. 

Sydney was all sorts of amazing, and Louis loved it, but there’s definitely something to be said for marathon shagging at home. Aside from the wonders of ordering in bulk on the bloody internet, there’s shoeboxes under beds full of condoms and lube within easy reach. 

*

When they’re lying tangled up in the sheets after - the sheets are a bloody nuisance, Louis thinks he should just sleep under Liam’s warm chest for ever and ever but he supposes Liam’s back might get cold - and there’s a condom lying on the floor somewhere that they’re going to have to clean up themselves because this isn’t a hotel, Louis wants to make some comment about sex versus X-Factor, but Liam covers his mouth with a hand when he sees him about to. 

‘Well fuck if you aren’t full of surprises,’ Louis croaks, as Liam flops back onto his back. ‘That was-’ He holds his hands up and puffs out his cheeks. 

Liam turns onto his side and reaches for the remote control for the lights. ‘Hope so. Hate for you to get bored.’

‘Liam,’ Louis says sleepily, waving a hand in the air until Liam catches it. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been more the opposite of bored in my entire life.’ 

*

'I like that we talk. About us. Can we talk about us?' 

'Do you want to schedule in a staff meeting?' 

Liam gives him a look that’s a bit like nails down the back of Louis’s thigh, which is a recent enough memory that he shivers, then arches an eyebrow to give a look at Liam right back. ‘Kitchen, ten minutes?’ 

Louis slaps Liam’s thigh lightly. It makes a dull sound. He supposes Liam would like him to put the bed and sheets back in order before heading downstairs, and he knows Liam’s taking advantage of the whole afterglow thing to talk about the thing Louis has been steadfastly avoiding talking about instead of cuddling. (Louis will make sure there’s cuddling anyway. Cuddling is important.)

Liam gives him a look and stands up on legs that look steadier than Louis’s, but they had been trying the new position that took extensive advantage of the metal headboard, and Liam has the kind of stamina that makes Louis want to be a better person, but not enough to do the gym hours Liam does. 

The door closes after Liam as he pulls a soft wool jumper over his head in a way that Louis would certify as adult if it were in a film. It’s not just Louis’s extensive jumper problem. It’s the way it’s one of his looser ones, so it finishes above the ridiculously low slung waist of Liam’s large cotton pyjama bottoms, leaving his sharp, lovely hipbones - the ones that have a few red marks Louis is feeling smug about - exposed to the colder air of the house outside the bedroom. Horrible. Louis regrets everything, but especially Liam’s evolution in clothing choices, thanks _Lady Lou._

Louis reluctantly looks past the edge of the bed to the floordrobe and scoops up the first pair of pj bottoms he sees. They’re the ones he pulled off of Liam earlier. They pool around his ankles against the plush carpet and Louis kicks his feet a little to sort them out, then pulls on one of his own Vans tees from where it’s hanging off a lamp. They need to get controls for the lighting by the bedside.

He wanders down the stairs with one hand drifting along the wall to stay absolutely steady and awake. At least their version of serious talking tends to mean a lot of tea. Louis could absolutely get into a post-sex tea habit. He’s surprised they don’t have one already, if he’s honest. Another thing for the bedroom list: a teasmaid or tiny hotel kettle. If Liam wants milk in his, he can get up and run naked to the kitchen to get it while Louis watches from the bed; Louis won’t stand for those weird UHT thimbles of watery crap to be in the house. Harry might play with them and then they’re all fucked. 

Liam, bless him, has a large pot with a teabag in it and mashing around the water by the time Louis is pushing open the swinging kitchen door and glaring at the tiles that are cold, fuck them. He hops up onto a stool at the breakfast bar pronto, and curls his feet into the too-long pjs to banish the demon cold. Liam watches out of the corner of his eye, crinkles forming and purposefully looking away again. Louis controls a grin. Badly. 

‘Want to run through a project?’

Louis hopes it’s a project. He has a feeling it isn’t, but the thing about him and Liam is that it feels so _huge_ and forever sometimes; Louis is an amazing planner, but even he can’t plan forever. He’s certain about Liam. Everything else - everyone else - is going to have to work with that. How he’s going to make that happen he doesn’t know yet, which is like waking up on a transatlantic flight without his Blackberry or his spare or Liam, and that’s the scariest thing he can think of on short notice. 

‘Something like that,’ Liam says, then looks up at Louis. ‘Toast?’ 

Louis nods enthusiastically. All energetic pursuits should be followed by buttery toast, in his opinion. 

Liam leaves the grill open and the heat bleeds out and hits Louis right about the ankle. Louis crooks a finger at him and Liam comes over obediently. Louis hooks his ankles around Liam’s knees to pull him closer, the grill heat on his toes now. ‘You’re a considerate bastard, Liam Payne,’ Louis mutters, messing up Liam’s hair a bit more. It’s only fair: Liam spent a while with his hands in Lou’s earlier. ‘What am I supposed to do with you?’

Liam grins and it’s the one he uses when he’s playing the boy next door, the good one, the foil to the bad life choice the heroine almost makes before figuring out she loved him all along. ‘You’ve got ideas, seem to remember you tried some of them, even.’

‘All right, Payno,’ Louis says, taking a breath and tapping the back of Liam’s neck until he leans down far enough for Louis to run his nose down the slope of Liam’s. ‘You know the drill.’ 

Liam untangles himself, keeping one of Louis’s hands in his. Louis slides it until he’s got a thumb against the side of his hip, just under the waistband. It seems ludicrous to have a whole house with so many square feet of space and move to Liam like gravity, but Louis isn’t about to complain or stop. 

‘You can’t ask all the questions this time, Tommo,’ Liam says softly, and Louis feels something fall into the pit of his stomach. 

‘This is about the pictures, isn’t it?’ Louis wants to slap his own mouth closed - he doesn’t want to push Liam, but sometimes he says things, and he wishes he hadn’t, or he’d waited. 

‘Yeah,’ Liam says again, pushing a plate of toast over to Louis. It has a smiley face on it in the rapidly melting butter, made with the dull point of the bread knife. It’s a red plate; Louis is the red set, Liam is the blue, Harry is the pink. Louis bought them after a heated discussion about which Power Rangers they’d all be in a Toronto trailer. It wasn’t so much that they disagreed - they _agreed_ but aggressively and vocally, at least after Louis made his extensive case for being the red. Liam might not agree that that’s how the conversation went, but Louis won, so everything else is semantics.

‘Someone tweeted a collage at me today,’ Liam says to the toaster. Louis throws a bit of crust at him and Liam brushes it off and rolls his eyes. 

‘Well, look at me then,’ Louis says quietly, a bit of a laugh in his voice. Liam does. ‘Did it have hearts? Did it have song lyrics? Enquiring minds, Li.’ 

‘It had us in it,’ Liam says bluntly. He fiddles with his phone then sets it down with a frown. Booster router, Louis thinks. Power point on the stairs. Not enough wifi getting to the kitchen. ‘Not Harry.’

_Oh,_ Louis thinks. _Those_ pictures. ‘I can get a quote for killing Perez,’ he says numbly. 

Liam laughs and leans forward, stealing the remainder of the crust from Louis’s plate. Louis remembers realising Liam ate crusts of toast willingly - even wholemeal bread crusts without soup or anything - years before and thinking _of fucking course you do._ He’d added it to his Are You Serious (And Real) list. 

‘Not actually his fault,’ Liam points out, like the rational, non-homicidal person he is and Louis aspires to be someday, even when it comes to Perez fucking Hilton. ‘They started doing the rounds again after Paris. Apparently there’s a theme and parallels.’

Louis narrows his eyes. Ah yes, _Paris._ ‘We went on a walk.’ 

‘In Paris,’ Liam adds. ‘Alone. On a weekend break. Bit of silliness at the fountains.’

‘Hardly the first time I’ve been seen with you out of hours,’ Louis counters. ‘Whole bloody world knows I live here and you barely ever stop working.’

Liam raises an eyebrow. ‘So you _do_? Why are we keeping the Belgravia flat then?’

Louis notes Liam’s scrunchy nose face with a thrill of victory. Only a year before he’d been hassling Liam about the state of his own flat. He wonders if this is what personal growth feels like. 

‘Different argument,’ Louis says, crossing his arms stubbornly. Probably not the best idea while balancing a bit badly on a tall stool but he feels like he needs to stand firm about this. (The truth is that Louis isn’t ready to admit the flat needs professional help and that he’s definitely not clearing it out himself. He suspects Liam knows this.)

‘This isn’t an argument, Lou,’ Liam replies gently and Louis feels what resolve he’d had not to talk crumbling like a loaf of bread. He waves a hand as expressively as he can manage. The Queen would be proud. The princeling and his fiance would be terrified. Louis would be triumphant. 

Liam moves closer and pulls the other stool up to the bar, reaching over for the sugar and pouring from the pot, putting the tea cosy shaped like a robot (or the Pope, but Louis thinks all tea cosies make people look like the Pope) on Louis’s head with a serious expression. ‘I’m not doing the thing where the hat means I get to talk-’

Louis stops talking just as Liam pulls the hat off and puts it on his own head, pinching him in the inner thigh just above the knee. 

They look at each other and burst out laughing. ‘Do you remember in Japan-’

‘With the robots?’ Liam breaks in. 

‘Wish Robot Wars was still on,’ Louis says, making _vrrooooom_ noises with his cup and gently clinking it against Liam’s. Liam turns his and uses the handle as a weapon, making clanging noises. This is why Louis loves him. 

‘They’re starting to pay attention to you,’ Liam says, eyes still on the space where Louis is spreading a thin line of pepper and setting up the shakers and sugar as goals. ‘Here,’ he continues, handing Louis the blue milk lid. 

Louis grins up at him and downs the rest of his tea. ‘First to seven.’ Liam nods and starts. ‘I don’t care,’ Louis says with a particularly vicious knock of the puck. It scatters the pepper a bit but the line is more of a guide anyway. 

‘You care about wankers like George asking why you need to go on set,’ Liam says, blocking one of Lou’s more sneaky pushes. The bastard has _excellent_ reflexes. ‘You care about worrying about things like Paris.’ 

‘I don’t see how it’s any of their business,’ Louis grinds out, bending down to pick up the puck after Liam gets his second goal in. This game always _seems_ like a good idea. 

‘Because we’re a couple,’ Liam answers, using his sensible voice. Louis looks up and catches the puck mid-field. That voice means trouble. The kitchen is quieter than he thought it’d be without the kettle, the grill or the table top air hockey to fill the gaps. ‘Because we’re doing this.’

Louis feels his palm grow hot around the lid of the finished milk bottle. He wants to go and crush it up for the recycling. He wants to make a list of the house improvements he’s noticed this time back. They _are_ doing this and this is their house. It feels like theirs at any rate.

‘Can you tell me you feel totally fine about working for me and sleeping with me?’ Liam says, standing up from the stool, frame rigid and hands flat on the breakfast bar. 

‘I’m not ‘sleeping with you,’ I’m in love with you and you’re fucking stuck with me like a limpet on a rock,’ Louis snaps back. If Liam’s going to push this then they can at least get the variables right. ‘And if you’re thinking we need to start being professional’ - his use of obnoxious air quotes is totally justified - ‘it’s about four years too late and, also, bullshit.’

Liam is grinning at him and Louis can’t figure out why. He was using his mean voice and everything, ribs tight across his chest. ‘Besides,’ Louis finishes, feeling the rant run out of steam and whoosh out. Shorter than he expected, but he’s never been good at denying Liam anything. ‘We work better like this. You know it-’

Louis cuts himself off before he can say anything silly like _no sending me away_ or _no going away._

Liam walks across the kitchen and slides his arms across Lou’s shoulders. He’s tall enough, and Louis is sitting, that it doesn’t even make his shoulders rise. They fit so neatly sometimes, like when Liam lets his head fall a little until it’s resting on Lou’s forehead. 

‘Oh good,’ Liam lets out. ‘I’m um, in love with you too. Like a limpet. Maybe lobsters. Or a starfish. Harry told me they regrow arms but not hearts if they get hurt. So that.’ 

It’s the corniest thing Louis has ever heard. 

‘We can make this work, right?’ Liam says, feet shuffling. ‘You and me. Working and this.’

Louis waits until Liam’s talked himself out, feels Liam’s pulse quickening through the thin skin of his warm wrist. 

‘I want to. We just have to be - honest,’ Louis says, tilting his head up in a slow nod that’s also a yawn. ‘I can do that. Be quicker to talk about stuff, maybe, yeah.’

‘I can do that. I can try. That’s the trick, then?’ Liam asks. Louis thinks it’s actually a lot like their usual conversations: Louis will question Liam one bit at a time about a project and Liam will answer with questions and tangents until they’ve untangled it together. 

‘Think it’s just us, babe,’ Louis says, letting his head fall forward to Liam’s shoulder. If they had one of the iPads down, he’d put on a slow song and dance Liam back to soft and sleepy and happy, like he likes best to be at 3am. Louis bets he’d like that. He adds a digital radio for the kitchen to his list. 

‘If we’re talking, you know, honest,’ Liam says slowly and Louis leans back and fights the urge to put a hand over his expressive, pretty mouth. He’d just lick his palm, anyway, because Liam Payne is a monster and Louis had no idea what he was getting into. ‘About telling people.’

‘You mean coming out,’ Louis says. If they’re having that conversation, Louis is going to break out the heavy words. 

‘I mean telling people. Could have held your hand in Paris,’ Liam replies, eyes wide, big warm palms at Louis’s sides. 

‘That would have done it, right you are.’ Louis tries his best to frown but it is so very late. Too late, probably, he doesn’t have his full powers at his disposal and Liam’s wide brown eyes and stubbornly prominent mouth don’t seem to be feeling 3am the way Louis is. Superhero stamina, honestly. 

‘Not what I meant, Lou.’

‘Don’t I get to keep you to myself for a bit? At least until the morning,’ Louis bargains, breaking out his own eyelashes. He’s not entirely defenceless when Liam gets all Puss In Boots on him. ‘I’ll share you with tea then. And maybe Harry. And our mums, I guess.’ 

Liam huffs out a sigh that’s mostly a laugh and nods so Louis thinks they’ll be okay. 

* 

Liam checks his email and sees Harry’s daily email about his rehearsals and how Liam and Louis’s month-long shag session is going. Liam thinks his first instinct shouldn’t be to type _we don’t have sex every day!_

Except.

Well, they _don’t_.

Not every day. 

And it hasn’t been a month-- has it?-- A quick look at the iCal date and apparently Liam is a liar. In his defence it’s been a very good month and there’s that saying about time flying and fun. He’s so glad they’ve been able to steal the few weeks of the year that Liam doesn’t have to be on set and doesn’t have a pressing promos or photoshoots pending for themselves. Only a little part of Liam wonders how much schedule juggling Louis has done to get them this month. 

And while he has a few other projects in talks, and the film with Cate in post-production, there’s nothing pending. 

Harry, however, is heading for Broadway in Mamma Mia as the fiancé - Liam can never remember his character’s name for the life of him - for the summer. Liam and Louis watch the interviews on youtube - Harry’s fans are so quick with the uploads, they’re fantastically useful and it’s only a bit creepy. Harry spends a lot of time on the press tour for _The Road: Part Two: Pedal to the Metal_ being asked about his forthcoming summer musical stint by interviewers angling for a laugh; he earnestly replies that he was really drawn to the musical because of its strong mother-daughter relationship and female friendships, and that he feels very privileged to be in the cast with so many fantastic women, and that he thinks it’s really refreshing that the musical isn’t about him or his male castmates. 

Liam thinks he can hear something pointed in the way that Harry says it; he knows Harry is still burning with rage from the studio axing Emily’s character - Jax’s love interest - in part two as a supposedly-shocking twist. 

Mostly though, Harry’s texts to them are about adding things to the list of NYC sights that he’s determined to take Gemma, Anne and Robin to see when they go over for opening night. The he makes the mistake of letting it slip that he’s still living in the Four Seasons when press tour fades into rehearsals for the musical.

Liam blinks, because Louis is waving the innocent-looking text in his face in London, muttering disparagingly about ‘people who think they can live on room service alone.’ Liam carefully hides a smile and wonders what Louis will come up with; he’s pathologically opposed to people living in hotels long-term, as Liam is well aware. There’s a reason they rented a yacht a week in when they were in Sydney and only half the reasons were because they wanted to cross some nautical fantasies off their mutual lists. 

‘Liam,’ Louis says slowly, typing furiously and then turning his laptop around to face Liam. ‘Don’t you just absolutely _need_ somewhere to live in New York?’

Liam is so fucked, because his first response isn’t _no, Louis, I rarely visit New York, you know this._ Instead he says: ‘Place Harry could look after when he’s in town?’ 

Louis nods happily, leans forward to kiss Liam’s cheek, mostly missing and catching on the corner of his mouth, then sits back and chews the end of one of his hoodie ties, cross-legged slipping into what Liam thinks of as his research mode, then tilts his head. ‘I’m thinking … a loft.’ 

Liam is _absolutely_ fucked.

*

Louis slips between the tightly-packed crowd by the stage door and tries to fight back a grin. Most of the more dedicated fans recognise him, there’s some muttering, and a path to the front appears. Louis makes a fussing motion to get them to hide him. ‘It’s a surprise!’ 

There’s some cooing, some plotting, and Louis finds himself hidden behind two fans who are taller than him - it’s their heels, wedges are back in, god save him - until Harry emerges, with his hair shoved under one of his beanies. Suddenly the little corner between 7th and Broadway, behind the Winter Garden Theatre is filled with excited yells. Louis grins, watching as Harry ducks his head and starts working his way through the crowd.

Louis waits and makes polite but information-free conversation about Harry and Liam with the fans while Harry makes his way down the line. Louis, never one to pass up a learning experience, soaks it in, and listens to the way people repeat their one question so they can say it calmly and watches the grins and smiles after Harry hugs them. He’s a good hugger, Louis notes, but he knew that already. He feels a tiny bit proud; Harry’s never been bad with fans, but he’s a terribly warm and competent film star nowadays. 

Then the two girls who have been so nice to Louis get their turn and Harry says a slow hello to them. 

‘We’ve got something for you!’ Tina, her braided hair tied back, says triumphantly. 

‘Oh really?’

Louis rolls his eyes. _Really,_ Harry. 

He sees Tina’s hair shake as she nods, then Tina and Ash’s arms are under his elbows and his feet are clean off the ground. He grins as they deposit him in front of Harry, who laughs and grins and pulls him into a back-pounding hug. 

‘What’re you doing here?! Were you -’ Harry shakes his head and offers him an arm. ‘Care to accompany me down the line?’ 

‘Like old times,’ Louis says and darts his hands forward to claim some of the fifteen things Harry’s clutching in his large palms, because he’s useless at bringing bags, then he stations himself on Harry’s other side with a wink to the girls. 

Harry makes a special effort with Tina and Ash, which is nice, and takes videos of himself hugging them on their phones and promises them tickets to the show again. (Louis takes a note to email Shona to make sure it happens.) 

When they’re clear and in the actual yellow cab - Louis _loves_ New York City, he fucking loves it - Harry curls into his side and asks why he’s there and if they caught the show. 

‘Caught the show,’ Louis repeats back, combing a hand through his hair, ‘Listen to you. All grown up.’

Harry huffs out a laugh and leans into the hand in his curls. ‘Did you, though?’

‘We did,’ Louis replies, nodding. ‘Liam’s gone ahead to let me surprise you but he said to say you were lovely and perfectly adequate.’ 

‘No, he didn’t,’ Harry replies, yawning. ‘He was much nicer.’ 

‘He was,’ Louis agrees and tickles Harry in the ribs for it. ‘Now shush, I need to tell this nice man to drive us home.’ 

‘What’s home?’ Harry says sleepily, blinking, and then shakes his head. ‘My stuff is at the Four Seasons.’ 

‘Not anymore it isn’t,’ Louis replies and if it’s smug, well. It’s a _really_ nice loft. ‘You’re staying at our new place for as long as you want. You’re going to love the kitchen.’ 

*

Liam tries to put money out of his head while he walks around the new loft he just paid a ridiculous amount of money for in New York, waiting on Harry and Louis to get in from the theatre. 

It’s probably just because he’s actually using all that money that’s been building up from his investments and being flown around, fed and housed care of the studios for so long. It feels like the time Lady Lou took him shopping, but _bigger._ It hit him sometime during signing for the loft and more of the London house renovations on the same day - to be paid in full - that he would never, ever not have a place to live. 

That his sisters, his family, Louis and Harry would never not have places to live. 

That Liam had just made that happen. 

He’d signalled his accountant to get out the other set of forms while he was there; Liam trusts Louis enough that he gave him full access to his accounts when he was buying the house. The loft is no different. It should be odder to think of things as _theirs_ but honestly it’s so nice he doesn’t have to autocorrect his thought anymore. Liam tries not to think about it in anything but professional terms because a lot of PAs have access to their client’s accounts and cards, he knows this, but it’s hard. Harder than it was before to compartmentalise the lines in his and Louis working relationship considering how Louis is in his bed every night now and he wants to keep him there, maybe forever.

Louis’s salary is still handled by Liam’s accountants in an utterly above board and professional way. Sure, they argued about the number when Louis started working solely for Liam - Louis said Liam was ridiculous, Liam countered that it was his old salary, plus the raise he deserved, plus what Liam would have been paying in agency fees - but that feels like it was ages ago. Liam also won that fight, but only after he pointed out that if Louis really wanted to get tetchy about it, he could put the money above and beyond his old salary in a savings account and use it on university for his sisters or whatever they wanted to do when they were older. 

Liam grabs some of the glass bottles they’d paid for - he can’t believe Louis convinced him to buy actual recycling, his life is utterly weird sometimes, he thinks fondly - and jams candles in them. It’s a fire hazard, this idea, but Liam feels like being a little reckless, just for a little while. 

*

‘And we’re heading back out to LA in a week or two,’ Liam says, finishing off the tour. It’s going to be hell to get rid of all the candles Liam lit everywhere to make the place look homely the first time Harry saw it, but he thinks it’s worth it to see them all reflected back in Harry’s wide, suddenly-awake eyes. ‘So you should, you know, spruce the place up as much as you like. You’re the one who’s going to be here for four months. And, you know, whenever you like after.’ 

Louis looks at Liam over Harry’s shoulder while he babbles about reclaimed wooden branches as hat racks and picture frame clusters. He hopes his expression conveys a very strong pinch of _really? You know he’s going to buy the Tracey Emin fairylights - sorry, art._

Liam, bless him, gets the gist, but his response appears to be _let him make his own mistakes in order to learn from them, Louis._

It’s a _very nice_ loft, Louis thinks wistfully. Harry’s loft. _Their_ loft. 

Harry slips into the bedroom he is already calling his own and Louis lets him have his fun and pretends he doesn’t know the first thing Harry is going to do is bounce on the bed. Liam is leaning against the wall outside the other bedroom - their bedroom - with this look on his face that can only be called fond, and Louis slides up to him, slipping his arm around Liam’s waist. 

‘I think we did good, Payner.’

Liam smiles and ducks his head down, brushing Louis’s lips. ‘I think we did, Tommo.’

They then hear a thud from the room Louis just left immediately followed by an _I’m okay!_ They turn to each other and laugh.

*

They spend the summer, most it anyway, with Harry as _Castle Walk_ goes through post and Liam watches as Louis begins getting calls from Liam’s manager and agent almost every other day because apparently they’re going to debut it at Toronto and Liam isn’t sure about that, but that’s what the studio wants and he knows the film is good, great even, and he loved working on it, but he’s not sure it’s Film Festival material. Louis just raises his eyebrows at Liam like he always does when Liam is being daft about something and when he reads between the lines of Liam’s insecurities that say: Liam doesn’t think _he’s_ film fest material. 

That means however, they have until September to be in New York with Harry, which works out rather perfectly because it means Harry can travel up with them to Toronto before he heads over to Vancouver to continue filming his series. 

But for now, it’s only really the three of them in New York, hanging about and Liam rather likes it. Likes, even more, that Louis convinced him to buy the loft because it means he doesn’t have to hiding Louis is sleeping in his bed to room service. It helps that the loft is comfortable. Slowly getting filled with knickknacks from all of them like Louis’s stack of comics, or Harry’s scented candles, or Liam’s free weights. 

It’s almost like being back home in London, just the three of them in the loft, going to see Harry’s show until Louis bans ABBA from the loft and eating out Corner Bistro when Liam wants a burger or Pershing Square when Harry crave their waffles. 

And it’s easy being with Louis in New York in a way that Liam never expected. Harry gets recognised so much easier than he does - Louis’s jokes it’s because of Liam’s ever changing hairstyles - and when they go out alone, just him and Lous, it’s almost as if they melt into the bustle of the city, into the shadows of the skyscrapers and he watch Louis idly about St. Mark’s comics with a dopey smile on his face without worrying so much. 

Louis worries, though. Liam’s not stupid and notices it. 

It helps they’ve always been close, that the media expect Liam to have Louis at his side in most pap pics, but when they leave dinner one night and decided to walk back to the loft Louis is the one who slipped his hand out of Liam’s on Prince’s Street, three blocks from Café Noir where they had been drinking pitchers and eating paella and tapas, and ten blocks from the loft. Liam hadn’t even noticed that he had grabbed Louis’s hand. Or had Louis grabbed his? And he’s not hurt, because he understand that Louis is only doing what he’s always done since he’s working for Liam:

Looking out for Liam and his career. 

It’s his job after all. 

Still, sometimes Liam just want to pull Louis into the middle of Times Square and snog him senseless. 

He reckons he could do it. Not kiss Louis in the middle of Times Square, even though, yes he probably could, but come out. Publicly. Louis always gets this little furrow in his brow when Liam tries to broach the subject. He’s protective, Liam knows, but he also wonders if Louis is worried what it would mean for them. Louis is still his PA and as much as Liam never wants that to change, he’s smart enough to know how that would look if they ever came out publicly. 

It’s not fair, he thinks, but he wonders about it, often. 

*

Then one day Harry asks about it.

Louis is out, shopping, and Harry and Liam begged off to walk around Central Park and visit the Zoo since it’s Harry’s day off. They’re meeting at the Cipriani’s on Fifth for lunch, because Louis loves Italian (and deems it better than the London one) even if the chairs are so low to the ground that Harry and Liam’s knees always knock against the table and each other. Still, Louis loves it. And Barney’s is practically next door.

They’re not due to meet him for a couple hours though and he and Harry catch the Sea Lion feeding the zoo does at the centre. They’re walking just outside the Tropics Zone when Harry asks. 

‘So are you going to come out?’

Liam blinks from he’s sipping on his water, watching a family hustle by. The mother stares at them for a beat, but her children distract her. He wonders briefly if she’s a fan of his or Harry’s. Probably Harry’s.

Liam swallows his water. ‘I’ve thought about it.’

‘And?’

‘Lou’s not sure it’s the best idea right now,’ he sighs. It’s not been an argument-- yet, but Liam’s sure it could be one day. He hopes it won’t be though. 

Harry seems a bit surprised at this though, eyes widening and he leans into Liam’s space, ‘But you want to, though? For Lou?’ His voices goes a bit dreamy and soft.

Harry is such a romantic. Liam loves him for it. He grins. ‘Yeah, I do, for me too, but I don’t also want to force him to come and label himself as anything if he’s not ready.’

‘He could just be your boyfriend, it doesn’t have to mean he’s suddenly out as gay.’

‘Well, no, since he’s bi, and private about it,’ Liam says and Harry gives him a look that he’s unimpressed with Liam because obviously Harry knew that. Liam nudges him. ‘It’s not that though, I mean, it’s part of that, I think...’ he shrugs at Harry, ‘but it’s also, you know, he’s well. We’re...’

‘He works for you.’ Harry’s not always so blunt to the press, but one on one, he’s always been surprisingly quick to the point. 

‘It would look...’ _wrong_ is the first word that pops into Liam’s mind and he hates it. He licks his lips and settles on, ‘Messy.’

Harry shocks him and laughs. ‘Oh, Liam, you’re worried people won’t take him seriously. And he’s worried about ruining your career…’ He grins, somehow both amused and sympathetic at the same time, and hugs Liam. 

Like Liam said, surprisingly quick to the point. He hugs Harry back and breathes out, leaning back. ‘Something like that.’

‘You two are even more ridiculous than me when it comes to this stuff. This is so romantic.’’

‘God help us,’ Liam laughs, pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple and lets Harry lead him to the penguins because Harry loves the penguins but he’s pretty sure what Harry said is true.

When they finally meet Louis for lunch he’s already sat at the table, with a glass of wine, and a few bags. He grins at Liam, eyes going all crinkly, grousing at them for being late, even though they’re barely ten minutes tardy, and Liam feels himself mirroring Louis smile. He would _definitely_ kiss Louis in the middle of Times Square. He’d do it in the middle of an interview or right now if he knew Louis wouldn’t kill him for it. But he’d do it.

And he hopes that when the day comes that he can do that Louis is kissing him back.

*

The Hamptons cottage happens for a weekend because Anne, Robin and Gemma come to New York to visit Harry. Harry offers to put them in a hotel and Liam and Louis laugh, then clear out for the weekend, heading out on the short drive out of New York after seeing _Mamma Mia!_ with Harry’s family and going for dinner and then drinks at Pink Elephant after. It’s only the third time they’ve seen the musical; Louis is sure it’s going to take at least six times before he can sing it all by heart. Liam’s got a head for lines, though, and he’s already mouthing along. 

They like the cottage enough to keep it on for the whole month in August. Louis loves hot weather - God knows he does - but there’s something better about just enough of a breeze, and not being stuck between skyscrapers made of hot metal and sun-warmed brick, and moving between crowds of equally-sticky people. The weekend is Louis’s idea; Liam’s already called to have it extended ‘just in case they need a break’ by the time he wakes up on the Monday. 

It’s got wifi, so Louis can keep in touch with the New York, L.A. and London offices all right. Or not, as he chooses. Rural wifi and all that. (He knows the team must call bullshit on the Hamptons as ‘going rural’ but they all know the difference between urgent and _urgent_ at this point.)

He lasts approximately six hours in the empty Hamptons cottage when Liam flies out to film a guest spot on _Entourage_ as himself. Louis had sworn off of going across to L.A. with him, told him to water the plants in Louis’s flat that he never got around to buying and bring him back a few things from the flat Louis’s barely used in two years, and not at all since Liam bought them the London and New York places. 

Liam had eyed the list and asked Louis if he’d order the courier pick up online because it was so much easier to do that when dealing with bulk quantities, one eyebrow swooping up. (Louis does; he gets their things from that flat shipped direct to the London house and not his one-bed in Belgravia. His stairwell is notoriously crap and the builders will let in the courier, unlike his neighbours.)

Except six hours after Liam leaves, Louis is bored shitless. It’s not that he’s bored just because Liam’s gone - they’re not that couple, not yet anyway - but the thing about living between three countries and at least three houses is that the comics Louis would like to be reading are maybe in L.A., or London, he’s not sure, but they aren’t where he is. He’s going to have to upload them onto his iPad, because he’s finished the ones he does have with him. Also, he really, really doesn’t want to play golf (that’s Harry’s personal idiocy, who he’s always seem to drag Liam into, because Liam is even worse than Louis at saying no to Harry) or talk to most of the neighbours. It’s not that anyone’s questioning Liam Payne and his PA working out of the Hamptons together, but Louis can’t be arsed lying - or omitting - about them today. It’s too warm and too early. He might go for a dip later. The place the rented has a pool and maybe it’s time it’s use actual swimming. 

So he packs a weekend bag and heads back up into the city with a quick text to Harry to let him know he’s on the way. Harry might laugh because he’s texting Liam, or missing Liam, but he’ll hug him while he takes the piss, so that’s something. The heat of the city is as oppressive as he remembers - Louis suddenly wonders if this is a terrible idea - but he goes shopping for things for his family, has a few packages shipped their way, and then decides to go downtown. He loses most of his afternoon walking around, thumbing issues at St. Marks and wandering around small market that pops up in the East Village before heading to meet Harry in the Park Meridian for lunch; they make Harry’s favourite burgers. Much better than sitting around the Hamptons feeling sorry for himself and he absolutely likes ABBA enough to see the musical a fifth time. 

Liam lands in L.A. half-way through lunch, sending texts to both Harry and Louis, and no, Harold, his face didn’t go all lovestruck when the text came through. 

*

‘So when’s-’

‘Three hours before-’

‘But you said-’

‘Oh, I said.’

Liam looks at Louis and wonders if he’s being shit at maths again. 

‘No, I’m not that shit at counting. We’re giving it a million percent,’ Louis says, bouncing on his heels and miming counting on his hands. It’s a mild September afternoon and they’re not just back at work after finishing a hot summer in a Hamptons cottage, they’re at a hundred and ten percent. And infected with X-Factor interview lingo, but that’s Louis’s fault. Liam takes no responsibility for the blatant screwing up of percentages. 

‘So tonight?’ Liam says, shrugging on his suit jacket. It’s Armani - Giorgio, classic fit, not the youthful hip one, because the film is a big deal, and so, apparently, is Liam. Also, Cate would rather he didn’t look like an actual teenager on the red carpet because it makes her want to pinch his cheeks, and Louis had laughed at that for a solid ten minutes then called in the tailor. 

‘Reception for the invited film reps,’ Louis says, scrambling for his satchel and Blackberry in the living room and nearly tripping over the strap in the process.

‘You could shove it in the room,’ Liam comments absently. He hands over his own phone to go in the bag. It doesn’t look like it’s got enough material left to it to hold up a light spider’s web but it hasn’t failed them yet, so. 

‘Then I’ll start shoving other things ‘in the room,’’ Louis replies with a pen in his teeth. ‘Where would we be then?’

‘At least you know you’re messy as fuck.’ Liam looks up with a grin under his eyelashes and Louis gives him a look that’s a little bit ‘fuck you’ but mostly ‘stop making me want to fuck you.’ 

There’s a scattering of a knock at the door, like the person is trying to find a rhythm and keeps getting distracted. ‘That’ll be Harry,’ Louis says, then shrugs when Liam mouths ‘Harry?’ 

‘You’re going to two parties,’ Louis calls back over his shoulder and throws the bag in the room anyway. ‘And he’s going to be away for months! To _Vancouver!_ ’ Louis spits it like it’s the end of the actual world and Liam conceals a smile. It’s not even the distance that feels so far away so much as Harry disappearing into the world’s longest, busiest blockbuster film shoot. 

‘No, I mean, it’s fine, that’s why Harry flew up with us.’ Liam stands and brushes his already spotless trousers. ‘I’ll just go to the boring party -’ ‘Parties! Don’t forget the second one. It’s a sponsors thing with international distribution rights people.’ - ‘while you two sit around our suite getting pissed.’ 

‘Heeey,’ Harry slouches into the room with the entire contents of his minibar in his palms. The miniatures look tiny and precarious and like Harry’s had two already. Also that he’s possibly planning to juggle them. Liam needs to leave before he’s caught in the middle of it all, except, if he’s honest, he’d rather be watching whatever they’ve got queued up and watching them get tipsy and huggier (at least, Louis get tipsy and handsy) than go promote his film, except -

‘Hey, you,’ Liam hears Louis’s voice say, except it’s soft and tender and aimed right at him, and Louis’s hands are warming his biceps. Liam blinks just in time to see Louis right in front of him, eyes bright and darting in to kiss him on the cheek. ‘They asked you here. You deserve all the boring parties they want to throw for you.’

Liam feels a thrill under his skin. They _did._ His films have always done all right, he’s kept getting more of them, but this one is doing _really_ well. People are talking about it, telling him to keep his schedule clear after New Year for the ceremonies. As if he’ll be invited to ceremonies for a reason. He feels his cheeks heat up. ‘Shouldn’t keep Cate waiting.’

‘She’ll kick your arse with Elvish magic and ballroom heels,’ Louis confirms and fusses at his hair for no reason other than it’s there: he should know it’s perfect, he styled it himself. ‘And we won’t put on _Iron Man_ until you get back.’

‘You mean until Harry’s too drunk to notice,’ Liam says and catches Lou’s fluttering hands in his own. Louis twists his wrists a little with a coy look up and Liam swallows hard. 

‘Well, that too, but I meant it to sound sweet.’ Louis smiles. Harry is conspicuously ignoring them with his feet up on the coffee table and half his clothes off already. The swallows he got just this last week are still a bit red around the edges. Liam shakes his head. If he could dress as quickly as Harry can undress, he’d get to more events than he does already, and his schedule is _busy._ And looking busier.

Liam leans in to catch his mouth against Louis’s and if a little bit of tongue slips in while he rubs circles on the backs of Lou’s hands, well, oops, he’s allowed now. Which is the best thing: before, when he felt jittery and excited before events, like he was about to vibrate out of his skin, like he was on a roller-coaster at risk of throwing up in the middle of the fun, Liam would look for something to ground him. Now there’s Louis. 

‘Go get ‘em,’ Louis mouths into his ear and Liam’s breath catches, even while Harry’s wolf whistling in the background and Lou’s lightly smacking his arse on the way out. 

*

The amount of applause they get catches him off guard and his first instinct is to turn and grab Louis’s hand. It’s only as he turns and catches Cate’s bright smile and laugh as she leans forward and kisses his cheek that he remembers Louis is back at the hotel with Harry. They’re probably laughing over some romantic comedy Harry chose or Louis’s managed to pop in one of the Bruce Willis action romcoms as a compromise and suddenly the two parties he needs to go to seem very long.

It’s not that he doesn’t love his job and he knows all too well that he needs to meet certain requirements when promoting a film, like going to your producer’s parties, but there’s an itch under his skin and all he wants to do is fold himself around Louis and tell him he was right. He saw something in the script that Liam didn’t quite see, something really wonderful, and it wasn’t until the credits rolled and everyone was cheering that Liam understood why Louis kept smiling softly, like he _knew_ , when Liam called the film ‘just a nice dance film.’

After hours of congratulations and mingling - it was nice seeing Matthew and Abie again; Matthew even introduced him to Tom Ford, which Liam is going to need a minute to get over. Then takes another when he realises he’ll have to tell Louis he met Tom Ford and hopefully Louis doesn’t kill him before he finally makes it back to the hotel. The room is dark and he can hear Harry’s snores from the couch, smiles at the half melted ice sundaes they ordered and pushes the room service cart out, flipping over the _Do Not Disturb_ sign. 

Towards the back of the suite, the bedroom door is open and even from the doorway he can see the glare of Louis’s laptop on the bed. Its light highlights Louis’s cheek in a way that makes him want to drop kisses along the sharp shadow. Part of Liam revels in the fact that he can now. And carefully moving the laptop out of the way, Liam does just that before stripping off his suit and crawling into bed. 

Louis’s only a particularly light sleeper when he’s waiting for something. He blinks awake for a second as Liam settles in next to him, eyes soft and mumbles something as he shuffles over to Liam’s side, patting his stomach. His fingers crawl under the tshirt Liam slipped on and curl over the jut of Liam’s hipbone.

Liam shifts and rubs his nose against Louis’s hairline, dropping a kiss on his temple. ‘Yeah, they liked it.’

‘’old you so,’ Louis says, mouth pressed against Liam’s collarbone. Liam smiles, rubbing his hand over Louis’s back, fingers tangling in his hair.

‘You did,’ Liam says, closes his eyes, ‘Met Tom Ford.’

Louis pinches his nipples lightly, mumbles, ‘Dirty flirt.’ 

Liam laughs softly and pulls Louis in closer, feeling happier here than he did as a room full of friends and peers applauded his work, but Louis’s always done that.

*

Toronto melts into L.A., and they leave the tasteful lights of the film festival behind for the brasher camera flashes of L.A.. Louis doesn’t think he has to tell Liam how well the film is going - there’s an undercurrent of urgency to the way the paps are following him now, which is as good an indicator that someone thinks Liam’s about to blow up as a studio exec sending him a welcome back gift direct to Louis’s flat, which also happens. 

Louis would laugh at how they knew better than to send it to Liam’s, but that’s because Liam doesn’t have an L.A. place. They use Louis’s when they’re there most of the time, or a hotel with faster routes to the airport. He’d broach the topic, but he needs to invoke cognitive dissonance to make sense of the parallel storylines in Liam’s diary, and he’s out of his good painkillers for that, because he thought those days were behind them for a while there. 

He blames this entirely for realising - with three weeks to go - that he doesn’t have _anything_ about the weekend-long press junket the studio are throwing _Castle Walk._ By throwing he means ‘throwing together in a hurry,’ now that it’s convinced enough distributors that it’s got what it takes to sell a lot of cinema tickets and garner critical acclaim at the same time. 

Not a single emailed itinerary or transport detail. 

Which isn’t just weird, it’s impossible.

Louis tears through his emails at 3am in the kitchen on his laptop, misses the London home office, then wakes up one of the L.A. office wonderkids and hisses falsely about ‘forgetting the time’ from a twenty minute car ride away. 

It turns out it isn’t even the wonderkid’s fault. The studio had one job left: one job, the junket, and they fumbled it. Louis is disgusted. It’s not like it was a premiere or anything; nobody, not the journalists or the delegates or the actors, was expecting it to be entertaining or anything except yet another bloody junket. They did not even have to try, they had every template and precedent Louis can think of and they failed. Even worse than failed, they tried, and half-arsed it. The only thing worse than no coverage is boring coverage, and a shitty junket full of bored, restless journos who have no press packs with handy questions in advance pretty much guarantees it. 

He doesn’t realise he’s saying this out loud until he realises that Tina in the London window of his Skype group chat has gone from nodding along to nodding off. He sighs before pinging her a direct IM that says _you will get a crick in your neck go away. I need you alive tomorrow._

She blinks and waves to the camera with the toy that belongs to her baby before typing back - slowly, Louis expects she hasn’t woken up at all, really - _aye, aye, captain._ He’d clicked her online Skype icon with the sneaking suspicion she’d be awake anyway: the baby’s not sleeping through the night yet and Tina’s emails have had desperately sporadic timestamps lately. 

Louis snorts and closes the window. He’s in his pyjamas and a Superman t-shirt - they’re very in right now, but his is the same one he got in Doncaster when he was fifteen and just that cool - and kicking his feet at the breakfast bar. Tomorrow will require a fuckton of coffee he doesn’t want to drink. 

But there’s the junket to think about. 

He sighs and clicks on the email draft to Simon. He’s still their most direct line to the studio even if Louis doesn’t actually work for him or agency anymore.

`No junket means no _Castle Walk_ coverage means no awards season means no Liam Payne getting awards care of Syco. GET ME THE JUNKET. Did I mention I freelance now?  
`

The reply is near-instant: Lou’s not the only one keeping strange hours. Fucking Hollywood will make ghosts of them all. Or vampires. He doesn’t want to think about vampires: it’s the trend that won’t fucking _die._

``  
I’m writing the email now. It’s yours. The accounts haven’t changed for expensing broken phones.  


Louis nearly falls off the stool cheering, then claps a hand over his mouth (Liam is _sleeping_ ), then realises he’s just agreed to pull a junket together in three weeks.

Then he looks at the hotel that’s been booked. Where did they find that shithole, Trip Advisor? 

He puts on a pot of coffee and cracks his knuckles.

*

The junket is the best thing ever. 

So much so Liam feels bad calling it a junket in front of Louis; Louis, who seems to know _everybody._

It’s like it’s a big fun reunion of cool people from the tours and sets of Liam’s last first five films, plus some people he doesn’t know, but they seem cool too, and Louis greets near enough everybody by first name and asking after their firstborn or dog or that cool phone they used to have.

There’s the sound engineer who used to beatbox with Liam on the set of _Choral,_ there’s his favourite catering team from _Trenches to the Fields,_ there’s even a camera tech from _Sea Prince._ Liam is having enough fun catching up with everyone that he barely remembers it’s work, then sees Louis with a clipboard and a tightly-constrained grin before Sammy from Liam’s team at the office ushers him into another interview. Liam mentions under his breath that Sammy should make sure Louis is eating enough and taking breaks. Sammy gives him a look that’s altogether too perceptive but also mutters that the entire team is carrying Lou’s favourite cereal bars in their own satchels. 

The one thing about Louis running the junket - and making it happen, so Liam’s film can do better, Liam’s stomach does gymnastics at that - is that Louis isn’t next to him between interviews, kicking at the legs of the fragile director’s chair or making faces behind the interviewer’s back. Despite seeing evidence of Lou’s work at every turn in the hotel - it’s a very nice hotel, Liam really appreciates his onsite cottage being so far from the press pack - Liam misses him being right _there._ Just a little bit. 

They’ve been checking in with each other at the hotel bar. Like people who socialise outside of work. 

Or date. 

(Louis abuses this and hooks his legs under Liam’s under the table, eyebrows raised in a filthy way, making promises about later, and Liam grins back even though he knows Louis is going to be asleep by 2am at the kitchen table in the cottage.

That’s fine. 

Liam’s getting used to the way Louis curls into him as he half-walks half-lifts him through to the bed.)

*

Liam never gives the gossip rags the time of day - he doesn’t have to play nice with them even sometimes, the way that Harry hates that he has to every now and again. But even he notices that the google alerts are getting more and more persistent. The one he had set up to keep an eye on how much the wider press were picking up on Louis’s constant presence at his side in particular. 

It gives him the shakes at 2am, still. It feels like waiting on somebody else to put the headline above the picture instead of just posting the picture and hoping everybody understands what the old code of Hollywood is implying in plain sight. 

He decides on step one as the year winds down to a close, in a bar, watching his agent get pissed on top shelf whiskey that Liam puts his card down against. 

‘These fucking rags, Payner,’ Alex rambles, pointing. ‘Can’t rely on ‘em for any kind of discretion, an’ they’re not even in fucking print, they’re just digits and dots on the fucking internet, won’t listen to anything proper PRs say to them. They’ll print anything to get people looking at those fucking porno ads in the -’ he slaps his hand against the oak. ‘Ha, sidebar. Sidebar!’ 

Alex looks around. He might as well not. They’re in the closest place to a dive Liam could find. There’s barely anyone around but them, just a group of mates at the other end of the bar. The dim lights catch one of the cheekbones of one of blokes. He’s very pretty Liam thinks offhandedly. ‘

‘Your Louis, he’s a prick and a half wi’, like, a hedgehog hulk temper for extra,’ Alex slurs and pats Liam’s knee. Liam bites back a smile. He’s heard worse about Louis but rarely so bizarrely on point. ‘I’d hate to see you two- you know?’ Liam nods and swallows. ‘You do it-’ Alex is so trashed that it descends into drunken a cappella karaoke of ‘My Way’ from there on in a bar that resolutely never installed a karaoke machine. 

Liam joins in. He likes to sing and he’s heard what he needed to know. They get kicked out, but nobody recognises Liam, so it won’t be in the hall of infamy with the bowling alley incident. 

He doesn’t tell Louis straight away but he can’t get Alex’s ramblings out of his head. About the internet gossip sites, about how hard his teams are running to try to protect their assets from being outed or dragged through the coals by them, how the internet is such big money in advertising and anonymous SEO agencies that you can’t even buy the bastards off anymore. 

He wonders how hard Louis is running to protect him. 

* 

It almost gets the distinction of being their first proper argument, which is weird, because the rhythm of it is so bloody familiar, just like Liam, who is _infuriating_ and stubborn as fuck, and why does he always manage to talk Louis into shit like this? Damn him. Louis is going to need to phone his mum. He’s a professional worrier - comes with the territory - but this needs an actual expert in around the clock worrying. 

They grudgingly find a compromise that they both sort of hate a little, just like always. 

‘I’m booking the flights!’ Louis shouts, like it’s a threat. ‘To L.A.! For this one meeting!’ 

Liam hovers in the doorway with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. ‘You know we need to be there anyway. We can sort out loads for the awards next year and-’

‘-debrief properly after the press tour,’ Louis chimes in sourly. Liam has that tiny point. Also Louis wrote and circulated the agenda to the team - with one giant fucking omission - so he is _familiar_ with the point of the meeting, thank you very much. 

‘Oh, look at that. How much baggage should we take,’ Louis announces in a pantomime version of his own voice. He fixes Liam with a glare over his shoulder. ‘Are you planning on doing interpretative dance in a rainbow flag at LAX? How much does your ‘I’m gay get over it’ t-shirt weight? Enough to tip us into the next baggage allowance?’ 

Liam laughs at him. ‘You’re a brat.’

Louis spins in the desk chair and Liam catches the arms, suddenly close. Liam swoops in for a kiss and Louis groans against his mouth. ‘Stop it! I’m cranky and worrying about you. That has got my diary entirely full today until at least lunch.’ 

‘I know,’ Liam says, kissing Louis’s cheek with a mouth that’s grinning. ‘I’m planning to distract you. ’ 

Louis swallows and quickly finishes booking the flights. Liam idly fidgets with the collar on Lou’s football shirt from where he’s standing behind the chair with his arms hooks over it the whole time. 

*

Liam feels oddly calm about the whole thing now; now that he’s decided on it and even started a little bit. 

Maybe calm is just another way to say shock, but he’s going with it while it’s useful. 

It wasn’t until he sat his sisters and his parents down and told them he was starting to tell people that he saw how huge it was going to be. Not then, even, but when he went through his phone book and wrote a list of people to have coffee and dinner with, people that he’d put on the list of his ‘inner circle.’ 

Not then, even. Maybe the fifth coffee. He takes Louis, Lady Lou and Tom to lunch for blessed relief somewhere in the middle. It’s definitely sinking in by the sixth time that he says _I just wanted to tell you myself, in case it leaks from the LA office-_

_So you and Lou-?_ a few of the braver - or blunter - souls had asked. Liam didn’t mind that bit so much. He knew his grin was giving him away. 

It’s all been good, though. No friends lost. Andy’s been a bit distant since, but no more than when he realised his best mate with the Toy Story kit was going away for good. He’d come around; he always did. And if he didn’t, fuck him, said Louis, but they’ve never seen eye to eye on Andy. 

Still, it doesn’t stop him skyping with Harry one night when Louis is working late and confiding how exhausting it is, how he’s realising it’ll never end. He’s lucky enough and famous enough that when he’s done, ‘gay actor’ will be something else that people know about him either because the tabloids use it instead of his name, like his most famous films or his place of birth. A lot of people will know before he meets them. But that still leaves everybody else, every other role and meeting where he has to come out all over again. 

It’s one of the few, few times Liam is downright relieved he’s famous. He doesn’t want to imagine what people who don’t have that do every time they meet someone new or go into a new job or pub. Before he was famous he didn’t have very many people to tell. 

_Come out, I suppose, all over again,_ Harry answered slowly on Skype. _Think it’s why Lou never bothers. Too much effort -_ Harry had smiled lopsidedly, _and there’s not an answer they could give he’d care about most of the time._

Louis is frantic all the way to LA. So frantic that three hours and six coded rants bouncing in his seat, he falls asleep all of a sudden, like a car running out of petrol, fist curled into Liam’s hoodie over Liam’s heart. 

They close down the floor of the agency like they closed Harrods when Louis wanted Christmas gift bags and Liam wanted to go with him. Liam is relieved that Louis snaps into his agency mode the same way his satchel flew into the hall that morning; Louis grounded him for so long, he needs just a little of that to see this through. 

They sit at the top of the conference room table next to each other. Liam’s knees are uncomfortably squashed against the table leg - he suspects Louis’s are too - since it was made for one chair, not two, but they manage. And Louis is too far away at the side. 

Liam tunes out most of the stuff that’s actually on the agenda, though he can’t help vetoing the occasional event or asking a question here or there: he can’t help that he likes knowing the details. He pays attention to Louis, who chairs the meeting with the brutal efficiency of someone who knows how hard it is to get this group of people in the same physical room. It’s strange: Liam doesn’t see him At Work as often as people think, not this kind of work, where he herds the cats in the backstage area who actually make Liam’s ridiculous life function. 

Liam hopes he isn’t about to ruin that. 

Too soon, the work of the meeting is done and everyone is looking at Louis to send them on. Louis told him that the end of the meeting was on the agenda in invisible ink that only they could read from the Weasley shop and he should ignore it if he didn’t want to actually do the speech. The team are probably thinking they can catch an early lunch since the meeting is finished half an hour early, squeeze in some emails that won’t get done otherwise, or leave early for a meeting instead of blaming the traffic for them running late. On time in LA: what a day. 

Louis clears his throat and looks at Liam. 

Liam nods and keeps it brief. 

*

Louis’s hands start shaking under the table - thank fuck it’s not one of those glass numbers - right about when Liam is thanking the team for their hard work on his behalf until now and apologising that he has to ask more of them. 

He’s tired and wired with too many coffees in his system and not enough sleep. He’s watching Liam put himself out there, watching him trust this team that Louis handpicked for him - so really, just another time when Liam trusts _Louis_ and Louis prays he’s done well enough to keep him safe. 

‘So you’re fucking after all-’ 

Louis feels his head turn so fast it clicks. 

Louis didn’t handpick Luke from the shark pit happily because he’s a massive fucking hypocrite. Most of the time he deploys him into the depths of the internet scum where he’s most useful and frankly, belongs, like one of those creatures that James Cameron wanted to capture in 3D for the first time. Useful as he is, Louis wouldn’t have chosen him to be in the same room as Liam for this. 

Liam is looking at Louis for permission. Outing them as a couple wasn’t in the peace treaty. Louis saves Liam the trouble and leans forward to glare at Luke down the table. 

‘Observant as ever. And you and anybody else with an issue can take it to a team for a D list boytoy doing guest spots on network procedurals as the corpse.’ 

The laugh that Liam and several of the others bite back isn’t very well hidden. Louis knows they’re safe enough; Luke is on the biggest team of his career. He’s a fuckwit, but unfortunately, they aren’t a rare event in LA, and half the reason they can’t stand each other is because Louis tripped and fell onto the two biggest assignments of his career and Luke likes bleating about how unfair it is he got neither of them. He’s also so obviously fired now. Louis will dispatch him somewhere quietly later this month.

Shortly after, they wrap up the meeting - or rather, Louis announces he and Liam have a transatlantic flight to catch back to the UK. 

It isn’t until Louis has checked Liam over like they’ve made it out of a war that he realises he needs a minute and mumbles about the bathroom before ducking into a corridor that only leads to office supply cupboards. 

‘Funny bathroom, this,’ Liam says behind him and Louis winces, thumb freezing above Harry’s name on his contacts. 

All of Louis’s quick answers die on his tongue. He vaguely waves his phone at the wall and Liam darts forward to cover his hand with his own. 

Louis feels his eyebrows come together. ‘Wasn’t going to throw it, you worrywart.’ 

Liam gives him a look then looks at the screen between Lou’s white knuckles. ‘You know I love Harry-’

Louis nods tightly and Liam slides a hand around Louis’s waist to settle at his hip as if they’re waltzing again, then presses his forehead against Louis’s temple. Louis lets out a shuddering breath; he’s not the only one shaking, just the one that isn’t an award-winning actor with a degree in putting on a brave face that the royal family would appreciate. 

‘-but the point of this thing is that neither of us have to do any of this on our own?’ 

Louis can’t answer past the lump in his throat so he nudges his hip against Liam’s and steps to the side. Liam picks up the steps and then they’re waltzing in an abandoned corridor of an L.A. office block next to the photocopier. 

‘We are very, very weird,’ Louis says into the quiet, tucking himself further into Liam’s crooked elbow, and fucked if it’s not proper form; Liam might be the only thing holding him up. Old habits die hard, though, and the second time they turn in a slow circle, Louis can’t help giving the photocopier a speculative look. Liam’s got his cheek against Louis’s hair and his eyes shut. 

‘If you do, I’m the only one that gets a copy. Boyfriend privileges.’ 

Liam hasn’t even opened his eyes. Louis grins. ‘I really love you.’

‘I love you too.’


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just one more section after this!

_**6\. write my name on stars (so you can see it)** _

_(Harry is 21.)_

 

Christmas and Louis’s birthday go past too quickly. One thing Liam discovers he loves about Louis is that when Liam does something a bit ridiculous on his birthday, Louis gets on with enjoying it fully and jumping around like a kid the night before Christmas, appropriately enough. He doesn’t waste a minute of the evening telling Liam that he ‘shouldn’t have’ before Liam drives back to Wolverhampton to his all-too-knowing mam and cackling sisters.

Speaking of all-knowing mums, Jay gives Liam a giant hug when they come back from the footie stadium. It was floodlit, they had it all to themselves for the night for a kick about and dinner in the box. There’s something terrifying about how tight Jay’s hug is because Liam made Louis laugh and brought him home to Jay; Liam doesn’t know quite how Jay does it, but he’s being warned to _keep_ Louis happy in the most affectionate way possible. 

Then the new year starts in earnest with a flurry of events (BAFTAs, SAGs, the Golden Globes, to name the big three) and it’s the first year that Liam’s almost invited to all of them. Two out of three isn’t bad. He doesn’t win anything however. 

_Castle Walk_ has broken so many of the expectations for a dance film that people are finally dropping the air quotes when they say it. Cate’s nabbed noms for Best Actress at both the BAFTAs and the Globes and they’re up for best song and screenplay at the Oscars. He doesn’t go to the Globes but he makes his rounds at the after parties. Liam got a surprise (to him, not Louis, according to him) nomination at the SAGs, which he did not win (much to Louis’s outrage). As a Brit he’s practically required to show up at the BAFTAs if he wants to retain his citizenship. Liam’s been in the industry a long time - since he was fourteen and doing small-scale period dramas for the BBC as the younger brother with hardly any lines - but this is the first film of his to get this kind of acclaim and it’s sort of bowling him over a little. 

Louis smiles at him throughout it all, fixing his tie and kissing his lips before they leave to all the ceremonies. His hand tight around Liam’s in the car. He stays as close to Liam’s side as he can without being in the pictures; sometimes the paps catch the edge of his cheekbone or smile. It’s how it’s always been, really, this system. 

Him and Louis on red carpets is an old dance they’ve mastered, but now, sometimes, there are moments (moments that have always been there; that Liam had made himself ignore for a long time) where he wants to stop and pull Louis towards him, press their lips together, and say, ‘I couldn’t have done it without him.’

He tells Louis this curled up in their hotel room in L.A. and it stops the conversation. Louis’s trying to get Liam to buy a house for them and Harry out there; Liam is considering it. Harry still has two more _Road_ films and as much as Harry tries to make it back home to London, L.A. is just easier for him than even New York and yeah, maybe they should have a place out here. Lou’s very good at building homes and Liam likes being able to help when he can. Louis props himself up over Liam and cups his face and presses his smile against Liam’s lips all the while rolling his eyes and telling him he’s ridiculous and sweet. It makes Liam want to press Louis back against the mattress show him what he means, because Louis-

Louis is...

He’s everything to Liam.

Louis is the one that pulls him back when he’s barrelling forward too fast and hard; he’s the one that pushes him forward when Liam’s being too cautious. He’s the one that makes Liam’s life make sense and scoffs at bad scripts and kisses him in the morning when they’re both sleepy and Liam has a five am call time. It’s not that Liam doesn’t know he has talent; it’s not about the acting in the films, but even then Louis has been there running lines with him since _Sea Prince_ when he didn’t even have to pay attention to Liam at all. And he gives so much of his time and energy to making Liam’s life run smoothly and sometimes Liam doesn’t know how to tell him how much he loves him for it. 

*

Liam raises an eyebrow. Louis claps his hands together just to send a puff of white chalk into the air and blows Liam a kiss that mostly gets chalk dust on his own face. 

‘I see how this gets us away from the dust at the house, absolutely,’ Liam says with a completely straight face as he tightens the belt on the climbing equipment strapped around his hips. Louis notes that it’s very snug across his ass and wonders: a) how good _he_ must look in it, because his arse is legendary and b) how he’s supposed to sensibly watch Liam climb up a wall. The _watching_ part isn’t the problem. 

‘It’s preparation for when we visit Harry next month, Liam,’ Louis puts his hands on his hips. ‘Utah has a lot of rock worth climbing. You’d like Dead Horse Point.’

Liam rolls his eyes but takes the first handhold and swings up onto the wall in the bouldering room anyway. They’re avoiding the long ropes for a bit to warm up - keeping their kit on mainly so Louis doesn’t manage to lose his chalk bag and climbing harness like he has every other time. ‘Actual Dead Horse?’

‘No, you daftie, this isn’t some horror film or French restaurant, it’s _Utah_ and _Harry.’_

Louis scrambles up a bit and grins at Liam, who is biting back some kind of comment that might insult Utah, the French or both. It’s very sweet how he does that thing royals and Jed Bartlett do where they can’t dislike anything out loud for fear of causing trade prices to crash, even if it reminds Louis how unbearably Hollywood his boyfriend is sometimes. 

‘And we’d better take some scripts with us.’ 

Liam groans and hangs off of the sharp corner, one arm (bicep) keeping him swinging in the air like an abnormally fit sullen teenager. 

‘Come on, it’s not like we’re taking printouts - that new overgrown phone Apple sent you to pose with last week holds about a million documents.’

A smile tugs at the corners of Liam’s lips while he continues to just, you know, hang out. Louis knows his arms would be burning by then. He loves Liam, but sometimes he hates him a little bit too. It’s healthy. 

‘Just because I won’t let you play with it.’

‘I don’t want to. You’re the one constantly ruining your battery life with nippy games on the iPhone you already have.’

Liam is grinning as he swings. ‘So when you make sure I’ve got all those new scripts to read on the plane you won’t try any of the apps at all.’

‘No, because some precious people would make me wear gloves if I tried.’ Louis tilts and swings so he’s against the ceiling like Mary Poppins or every good guy who’s ever had to hide in an air vent. ‘And yes. I’m loading them onto it and taking two chargers because it’s made by Apple. People will be expecting you to get back to them, Mr Surprise Oscar-Buzz Hit of 2009.’ 

Liam crawls across to meet him. ‘Good thing you got tough on my diary this year.’ 

‘Bet you fucking owned the monkey bars in the play park,’ Louis grouses without any real heat. 

*

Louis had been thrilled when - after the hell that is Los Angeles to London with a change in the middle, after staggering into the car and back to the house - he’d realised they might be in another Sydney situation and had turned the air blue in the kitchen, putting the milk back in the fridge with possibly excessive force. Liam had wandered in in search of his tea and asked him what the racket was in aid of, and Louis had said _here’s your tea, we have no fucking condoms again, don’t we?_

 

Except Liam, on home ground, was prepared for all eventualities, and after a cuppa, he’d pulled Louis upstairs by the hand to show him how well-prepared he was. 

Louis stands up and tugs up Liam with him, pushing Liam’s pjs off the process. The oversize tank top is far enough from a definition of clothes that taking it off barely counts as undressing Liam, but Louis tugs it up and twirls it around his finger once before tossing it over his shoulder as he climbs onto the bed. 

‘Where were we?’ Louis says brightly, starfishing out on the bed and sighing happily. 

Liam laughs into his shoulder and reaches past Louis’s side for the lube. ‘Shagging.’ 

‘Definitely shagging,’ Louis agrees, then tilts his head and uses his heel to tip Liam on top of him. He might have suggested Liam go through with his original yacht plan in Australia but with extra sex - lots of extra sex - because he wanted to know how the sea waves felt under them if Liam was riding him in their cabin (amazing, was the answer) but Louis’s favourite might be when the whole length of Liam, and his torso, and his arms, are stretched over him like there’s nowhere else in the whole world left to be. 

‘Like that, then?’ Liam says against Louis’s cheek. The hand that’s not holding him up is everywhere on Louis, pinching and teasing so that his body arcs up in little gasps, dick brushing Liam’s every time.

‘Tonight, yeah,’ Louis nods. He’s shifting on the bed already, full of energy he can’t get rid of, turned on and edgy. Sometimes Liam’s cornered Louis on the couch, bouncing on his heels, ducking his head and offering an open palm, and Louis has bent him over the edge of the bed - or the bathroom sink, just like Liam wanted, watching Liam’s face come apart in the mirror - but tonight, he wants Liam to fuck him until he can’t move, til he’s sinking into a dreamless sleep with the good kind of ache in his bones. 

Liam stops, takes a breath above him, and blinks, then looks back up. It’s a shift Louis has seen before, when Liam’s getting into a character. Except the best thing about knowing this part of Liam too is that it’s like he’s shifting into a different part of himself, just as thoroughly _Liam_ as the one who smiles and spells like shit in his texts. 

‘Right, then,’ Liam says, and that’s it, Louis feels his shoulders come down a little, Liam’s got him. 

And Liam has. He slicks up his fingers and draws two along the inside of Louis’s thigh until he’s shivering from the chill touch and the look that Liam’s giving him, pinning him to the bed. Liam slides two fingers in and Lou’s already open, so it’s not long til he’s thrusting sharp and hard, and Lou’s writhing on the bed, hands above his head and fingers around Liam’s arm. Then Liam adds a third and pushes until he’s hitting his prostate and Louis swears the room starts to spin. He hates that he could easily come from just this; just Liam’s fingers and legs keeping his against the bed sheets, except Liam leans close to his ear to ask him not to, and kisses his cheek on the way back up. 

‘Li, I want to-’

Louis doesn’t have the words, actually, now he’s trying to use them, so he nods and hopes Liam knows what he means. He doesn’t quite, but he moves and Louis sits up, turning and straddling Liam on the bed. Liam’s mouth is open and he’s looking up at Louis. ‘Can I-?’

Liam swears harshly, then grabs the condom from next to Louis. Between them, they get it on Liam’s dick and Louis might stroke Liam up and down with the lube a few more times than necessary after, but the way Liam shudders up into him and calls him an awful lot of names doesn’t suggest he minds. 

Then Louis waits, just a minute, and Liam covers Lou’s hands with his own and together they align Liam’s dick against Louis, sliding up into him a little, a shallow thrust that makes Louis lean forward to balance himself on the bed. ‘All right?’ Liam says, looking up at him. 

‘Fuck,’ Louis replies, because he’s clever. Really clever. He also needs Liam to pound him into the mattress or off the mattress in this case, and he must say that out loud, because after a low curse that’s what Liam does. Louis doesn’t know when or if was even possible but over the last few week he thinks he’s become addicted to riding Liam. And god bless him, Liam fucks him in earnest until they’re both shaking. It’s really a great thing, Louis thinks dizzily, that their builders don’t work weekends, because all he can feel is everywhere Liam’s body lines up with his, every thrust Liam makes, every inch when Louis bears down on him, and all he can hear are the sounds of skin on skin like slaps and the litany of swearing they’re both letting out. The headboard in this room is a soft cushion and a very, very small part of Louis makes the mental note that in master room they’re going to need a metal headboard; one with rungs where they can get a fucking grip on something as his hand scrambles for purchase in the sheets. 

Liam lifts his knees up, giving Louis better leverage and letting him arch back. Liam’s hands are hard as they grip Louis’s arse and fuck, yes. Louis reaches back and drags his nails up Liam’s thighs, squeezing his own thighs around Liam.

‘Fuck, Lou, _fuck_.’ Liam’s got such wonderfully dirty mouth in bed and Louis loves bringing it out. Liam then reaches up, tugging his head back down so he can make a mess of Louis’s neck. His other hand he slides up to where Louis’s hips are tugging him back onto Liam’s dick with every thrust forward, slips it up to pinch his nipple just like Louis likes it (and Liam is such a delightfully quick learner) and Louis takes his own cock in hand, coming with two quick strokes. He must clench his arse when he comes, because Liam groans out his name and Louis finds himself on his back again, Liam’s grip near painful on his arse cheeks, his breath hot against Louis’s jaw, following after a few hard rhythmless thrusts. 

_Perfect_ , Louis thinks, even as Liam’s weight rests heavily on him, threatening to crush his ribs. He buries his fingers into Liam’s hair. They have to take all the time they can before work calls again. Liam is back on location in a matter of days.

*

Louis isn’t surprised by the series of pings when he switches his phone from airplane mode as soon as they touch down in Utah; it’s usual enough. Liam doesn’t even bother turning his own phone on, stretching in his seat, his smile soft and warm for Louis. Louis grins back. Liam always has a thousand people trying to talk to him, not to mention Louis is always on the phone with a thousand more. Then there’s their families, friends, and Harry, who gets a special category of his own.

There’s more than usual and he feels his Blackberry vibrate and keep vibrating as it syncs with his email, and then his eyes catch the top most messages and missed calls.

_Curly. Curly. Curly. Curly. Curly. Curly._

Louis frowns. The plane is just approaching the terminal and the flight attendants are walking to the door and he’s never been a nervous flyer. He’s not even flying at the moment, but his stomach turns over. 

Liam leans over his shoulder, curious, 'Lou?'

'Harold’s been calling. A lot.' He looks up at Liam and he can his confusion mirrored in Liam’s face. 

Harry calls them a lot, because he loves them a lot, but Harry also knew they were flying today. There’s no reason at all for him to be calling unless something was wrong. Louis stills and tenses, thinking about Liam’s stunt accident and hoping to God that Harry is okay. God, what if Harry isn’t okay? What if one of the ridiculous cars he has to drive malfunctioned or something went wrong? He know Harry has a stunt driver and he has Kevin, but sometimes they need close up shots and Harry has to be in those death machines--

'Lou, I’m sure he’s fine. Shona would be calling if he wasn’t,' Liam says, his hand closes over Louis’s knee and he nods, because Liam is right. He’s right. Still… Harry doesn’t call like this unless something-- The flight attendants are opening the door. Louis already up and pressing Harry’s number.

Beside him Liam is grabbing their carry ons and they’re just exiting the plane when Louis hears Harry’s breathless voice on the other end of the line. He didn’t even wait a whole ring, Louis notes and feels his whole body tense even before Harry speaks. 

'Lou! Louis, theyavepictures!'

'What?' Louis asks because Harry is talking too fast and what is that about pictures?

Around him other passengers disembark and he’s only half aware of what direction he’s going, letting Liam guide them out of the Salt Lake City Airport. 

'What are you talking about? I can’t hear you, Haz.'

' _Louis_. They have _pictures_!'

Harry’s voice is frantic in a way that Louis has never heard before and it makes him pause in the middle of the airport. Liam notices straight away and stops as well, turning to him, head tilting worriedly. 'Lou? What’s-- is something wrong?'

'Pictures of what, Harold?' Louis asks, voice tense as a violin string ready to snap. His stomach feels knotted up like it does right before the drop in a theme park ride. He’ll wonder later how he knew what was coming. Liam walks up to him and touches his shoulders just as Harry answers Louis’s question. 

'You, Lou. You and Liam. They’re all over the internet.'

Harry’s voice sounds so far away as Louis looks up. Liam is asking him again what’s happening. He doesn’t even get his full question out, breaking off as Louis meets his eyes. Louis can read the exact second he understands what’s happened. That whatever plans they had have been crushed with the click of a camera and such sadness crosses his face that it snaps Louis back into the moment.

'Where are you?' Louis snaps into the phone, not caring how angry he sounds. He doubts that Harry will mind anyway. He starts walking again, tugging on Liam’s arm. They need to get out of here as soon as they can. Not many people in the airport should know, considering the pictures must have leaked while they were en route, but the internet is so fast now. Twitter is a bloody menace. And don't get him started on the kraken in the water: Tumblr. They need to get out of here so fucking fast.

'At the airport, waiting for you with a car,' Harry answers and Louis loves him so very much.

'God fucking love you, Haz,' he breathes out, tugging Liam faster towards the exit. 'How’s the situation out there? What are we looking at?' Louis flicks his eyes back to Liam who he loves so much and looks so betrayed and Louis wants to kick in the faces of every single pap that’s responsible for that. He’s going to burn them down.

Over the phone, Harry keeps talking. Louis is very grateful for Harry right now. 'Nobody knew you two were coming on this flight. Nobody knows you’re here…'

'Yet,' Louis finishes for him, because it’s only a matter of time. It will come out soon that they came to visit Harry, it always does, their visits to Harry are legendary and right now he hates that about them because everyone will descend on them--on Liam. And fuck that, fuck them. Louis stops and turns to Liam who hasn’t said anything in the last three minutes he’s been letting Louis lead him around, who is looking more angry than sad now, the furrow between his eyebrows getting deeper. Louis walks right up into his face and presses his free thumb right between those eyebrows. 

'I’m going to fix this, Liam. I promise you.'

Something too quick and looking too much like resignation flashes over Liam’s face. His voice sounds too thin as he says Louis’s name. 'You can’t. Not this.'

'Watch me,' he says, and he can’t help himself. He pushes up on his toes and presses a hard quick kiss on Liam’s mouth in the middle of an airport in Utah. That gets them a few glances they didn’t need but Louis just doesn’t care for a few seconds. 'Watch me. Come on, Harry is waiting.' He pushes Liam towards the sign that says Baggage Claim and hopes that for once those damn carousels will be quick because he has people to murder. 

He presses the phone back to his ear. 'Be out as soon as we get our bags, Harry.'

He can practically picture Harry’s sharp nod. 'I’ll be here.'

Louis hangs up with Harry and tightens his fingers around Liam’s hand. He feels Liam squeeze back and he takes a deep breath.

When they walk out of Baggage Claim it’s straight into Harry’s arms, who manages to wrap them both up in one tight hug at once. Over Harry’s shoulder Louis catches sight of a young teenager with her iPhone, eyes wide, clearly taking a picture of Harry and Liam as Louis slips from the embrace, still holding Liam’s hand, and turns to Cal, Harry’s head of security. He wants to walk over and slap the phone out of her hand. 

He grits his teeth and says to Cal, 'Get us out of here. Now.'

His phone pings again. This time he checks. It's Perez. It's a short message and a link. 

_Sorry, Tomlinson._

The link is to the pictures. 

* 

The pictures are of them this morning. They had woken up early to have a nice breakfast before heading to the airport. They're balcony pictures, taken with a telephoto lens. Louis recognises the building. He should, it's where he lives. They're not great pictures but that's not the problem. The problem is that they're not bad. 

It's clear, all too clear who it is on that balcony. 

Liam in his too low slung joggers, shirtless, coming up behind Louis, dressed in a boxers and a stretched out t-shirt of Liam's, and kissing his cheek as Louis sips his tea. It's a lovely picture, to be honest. They look happy and comfortable. They had been at the time. Louis hates it. Hates even more the person who took it and has ruined that happy moment for them. Liam had made them pancakes.

He throws his phone against wall of the house the studio rents for Harry out here. He doesn't even care that he hears the screen crack.

*

‘I can't fix this.’ Louis says once everyone leaves and they push Harry out, because actually does need to get back on set, being the star and all.

‘Louis.’

‘No. I'm supposed to fix your problems not make them.’

Liam’s head snaps around and Louis is proud; the expression is owlish and focused, and it’s Lou’s, just not on his face. ‘You're not a problem. Don't call yourself that.’ Liam leans back on the case, sitting on the top of it the way Louis always hates. ‘... I didn't want it like this.’

Louis looks up from his laptop. He hasn’t looked near any of the other bags, just yanked his laptop out and shouted down a landline until he got a wifi code out of someone. ‘Liam?’

‘Telling everyone: I didn't want it like this. I wanted to do it nicely. Proper.’ Christ, if that isn’t the most Liam thing Lou’s ever heard. Louis uncurls his legs from under the whirring laptop fan and walks over until he can tug Liam back to the bed by both hands. Liam ends up with his head in the crook of Louis’s neck and Louis realises it’s the first time they’ve hugged since Harry appeared at the airport. ‘I wanted to do it together.’

_‘Liam.’_ Louis thinks: he did, too, as much as he wanted Liam to risk himself by doing that at all. He wanted Liam to be able to do this one thing exactly as he wanted, no compromising with anyone but Louis, and only then when he was about to do something bloody brave and stupid and noble and perfectly Liam.

‘I don't want this fixed, Louis. I just wanted it to happen differently.’

Louis doesn’t have anything to say to that.

Then the phones start ringing. To be fair they haven't really stopped. 

*

Harry’s been up since four am on the shoot and he’s still in costume, so Liam has the dubious honour of being served very proper tea by the young leader of the post-apocalyptic revolution in his driving leathers and artfully mad hair. It’s on one of those silver trays he never knows what to do with.

‘Where’d you get proper tea, Curly?’ Louis says from the armchair in the living room and holds his hand out for a cup. He’s got a new phone balanced on his knee, from a bag of spares Harry bought on the way to the airport. The laptop is on a cushion and a pad of paper with deeply-scored in lists, possibly of people to go on the ‘interview denied’ list forevermore, more likely on the ‘lives to ruin’ list. He hasn’t decided yet. He knows all he has to do is send the list to the office and half the agency’s client list will barricade the doors against the vulturing fuckers, and Harry’s team and franchise will never give them time of day again as it is. ‘Before you pollute the spoon with Liam’s four sugars please.’ 

Harry rolls his eyes but shuffles across on his knees to hand over the cup. ‘Don’ ask. Good thing the crew likes us so much.’

Liam huffs a laugh and covers the mouthpiece of the phone. ‘That how you’ve got half the costumes in your wardrobe?’

Harry blushes and mumbles something. ‘Tell your mum hi.’

‘She says hi,’ Liam says by habit and Harry shakes his head gently with a dry smile. 

‘No she doesn’t, she’s still crying, isn’t she?’ 

Liam nods and puts the phone back against his ear then grabs his tea to duck into the bedroom again. 

‘Lou. Lou. Lou. Lou. _Louis._ Lou-ee. Lou. Lou.’

Sometimes Harry is a fucking menace. 

Louis glares at him over the laptop and sips his tea. He’s using his powers for evil; Harry should know better than to interrupt with his big anime eyes on at full. 

‘I want a nap.’

Louis blinks. 

‘Stop ruining lives and be my pillow.’

Louis sighs. Harry’s being whiny and demanding; Louis can wreak havoc later, and God knows Liam will need a cuddle pile when his mum is finished with him. 

As he settles them on the couch and drags a blanket over them, then finds something Pixar rated on one of the eight hundred million channels, Louis wonders if he can get burgers delivered to a duvet fort.

He wonders if Liam’s seen the tweets yet, the good, the bad and the downright ugly.

Actually he doesn’t. He knows Liam, so he knows he has. 

* 

Twelve hours later, just as Liam announces they are meeting Harry for lunch in public with a determined set to his jaw, they get a phone call from Shona that sends chills down Liam’s spine. 

‘They found the set and that you’re on it yesterday. They’re all arriving today. We’ve got extra security in and you should go to lunch anyway - don’t let Louis talk you out of it, vitamin D is important - but you’re walking into a pack of wolves.’ 

And they do. 

Harry kisses them both on the cheek, Louis mutters about being in for a pound and they sit holding hands at an outside table and fight over chips from each other’s plates like nothing’s changed. 

Those pictures go around the globe in hours, too. 

*

‘What’s that one?’

Louis snorts at the folder on his email account. ‘It’s offers of refuge from half of the bloody A list, mostly in tax havens with clear blue seas, like when Geri quit the Spice Girls and ran away to George Michael’s for a fortnight.’ Louis looks up and smiles just a little. ‘We have a lot of friends.’

Liam presses his thumb into the soft flesh between Louis’s thumb and index finger to steal one of his hands. ‘Why are we inside? I thought we weren’t hiding.’

‘Proofing press statements,’ Louis answers with an eye roll. ‘The office sent over drafts. Simon approves-’ Liam opens his mouth and Louis darts in to kiss the top of his nose just to be annoying. ‘And Simon knows we’ll do whatever the fuck we want whether he approves or not.’ Liam bites his lip, the way that says he overheard enough of _that_ phone call. Louis and Simon have a unique working relationship. ‘You’ll want to type yours out with organic spelling mistakes.’ 

Liam pushes his shoulder against Lou’s. ‘I’ll write it from scratch and you could put it on the website maybe? Don’t need somebody writing this one, been thinking about it long enough.’ 

The statements from Liam and Harry’s teams go out the next day, and Liam links to his own message from his twitter then does his best to ignore the @replies, even the nice ones, for a few hours. 

*

Every airport is hell. Every time they step out of the door, there’s a million photographers, a million billion camera phones, and they could make a stop animation of their every move from the twitter pictures. Louis needs a whole new team just to keep on top of his emails, so he asks Simon for one, and to his surprise, Simon gives, but it barely lets up for weeks. LA is the sort of town that enjoys 1984 as a dream to aspire to in terms of surveillance, and as grateful as Louis is that people stop them so much even to say how much they support them, it’s impossible to get anywhere or get anything done, even efficiently cancelling things that Liam lets him cancel and arranging in person interviews to be done over Skype or by phone.

And not everyone is saying such nice things.

So much so that Louis starts opening those offers for hideaways and saying yes.

Three weeks and two luxury villas after they say a tearful, early goodbye to Harry at Salt Lake City, Louis sits the iPad down carefully at the breakfast table on Richard Branson’s balcony in the Caribbean and lets out a noise of pure rage. They should have expected this but he doesn’t have to like it. 

The billionaire who puts their own modest fortunes into the shade blinks and goes back to his own iPad. The man can go into space whenever he likes, Louis wants to grow up to be him please, and he thinks he and Liam would have a grand old recce in zero gravity. 

‘Lou?’ 

Thing is, for all Liam is a favourite of Kate Winslet’s because she thinks he’s cute when he blushes, the Branson connection is actually Louis’s from his very early days at the agency. It’s one of the bigger strings he doesn’t pull very often. Mates don’t do that kind of thing except in emergencies. 

‘They’ve just cast some non-entity in _Crazy, Stupid, Love._ and don’t ask me where the commas go in that new title for the damn film, for the love of God,’ Louis spits, then nods his thanks as Richard fills up his mug with black coffee that’s probably freshly ground gold. ‘And I don’t even want to talk about that time loop film Liam wanted or the general meetings that have suddenly become inconveniently timed for people.’

Richard gives him a look and sips his own tea. ‘You appreciate Ryan Gosling’s abs though.’ 

‘He’s a lovely bloke and should be illegal to look at, and Jake is a hilarious drunk,’ Louis agrees, knuckles turning white around his phone. He logs into the scripts deposit email and archives another cript so it's out of Liam’s ‘pending’ folder. ‘Not actually my issue right now.’

‘He’ll bounce back,’ Richard says quietly, one eye on the door for Liam heading up, freshly showered from the home gym wing. ‘Your Liam, I mean. The studio heads are cowards with a small ‘c’ and their shareholders are worse. This could be any scandal, we both know that.’ 

Louis grits his teeth. It could be any scandal, but it isn’t, it’s Liam shagging men, specifically _Louis,_ and somehow in the year 2010 AD it’s _still_ a scandal by someone’s definition. 

‘He’ll take it personally,’ Louis says flatly. Richard’s advice is part of the reason he rose so quickly; Richard didn’t pull any levers for Louis, but he’s steered Louis around a few potential patches of career quicksand when his temper threatened to send him flat into it. 

‘That’s a partner problem, not a client problem,’ Richard answers. ‘And you're good at both.’

*

They’ve been at Richard’s for a week - and had Kate over for dinner by way of one of the private jets, and Richard’s mum, who thinks Louis is a right scamp, apparently - when Louis finds Liam looking at a set of open tabs on his iPad. 

‘Time you went back to your mum and those sisters of yours for a weekend, Payno, not that you’ve been avoiding it or anything,’ Louis says firmly and steals the iPad from Liam’s hands. ‘Then we’re off to mine so the twins can throw things at us and tell us to get a room if we so much as hold hands.’

Liam’s got shadows under his eyes that his new, multi-layered tan can’t hide. Louis looks at him and thinks his mum’s ridiculous tea and their houses filled with noise will do him the sort of good that a summer holiday at a succession of mansions can’t manage. 

Liam sighs and it sounds so tired. 

One more private jet later and they’ll get to spend two weeks sinking into their parental houses and the hugs like they do the worn couches with bits of Play Do on (Lou’s) and sisters fighting not to be in the middle (Liam’s). 

*

The mainland and UK airports are even worse, and Liam didn’t think that was even possible, but it’s a proper swarm as soon as they get into the public areas. Paul doesn’t give them a choice about taking security to Wolverhampton and Doncaster, and they’ve never done that before. By the time they get through to the car, they both slump against the leather and Liam thinks it’s definitely not the jet lag. Louis’s hands are white around the strap of the satchel as if it’s got his life-force in it, and given how much time he’s been spending on the laptop lately talking to the Agency offices, Liam thinks he’s not far wrong. 

He tries not to think things like ‘damage control.’ But he notices things like scripts quietly drifting from the inbox and appearing on imdb pages with other names attached to them, even if Louis doesn’t want him to. 

Liam wakes up in Louis’s childhood room at two in the afternoon with the Beckham posters and footie trophies and pink toys that his little sisters have left behind. 

‘Lou, were you born in a barn, God-’

In the hall, Jay turns and looks in with a smile. Liam tugs the quilt up to under his chin really quickly. Liam sleeps shirtless because Louis is a radiator of the worst kind, and he spends more time than most people do in states of undress at his work, but that’s different to his boyfriend’s mum looking in with Peppa Pig and toy Muppets in her hands. Jay knocks on the doorframe and Liam nods. 

‘Louis took the girls shopping. Said he needed some kind of spaghetti hoops he could spell out bad words on his plate with.’ Liam grins and Jay matches it. It’s Lou’s smile on someone else’s face. 

‘Did he take-’

‘A couple of the lads went with him.’

Jay’s tone tells him that the lads aren’t the guys from the football team. Liam wishes it made him feel better but he just wishes it weren’t necessary. Whenever there’s security around, Daisy gets worried about aliens because of that one time she saw a bit of _Mars Attacks!_ and the fake president’s family had bodyguards. 

‘How are you holding up, love?’ Jay asks seriously. Liam feels like he might not be allowed out of the bed if he doesn’t answer honestly enough. Liam’s mum asked him the same thing, all week, and so did his dad, Ruth and Nic. He answered them honestly enough, he thinks, even if he didn’t want to make his mum cry again. Ruth’s always had his back. 

‘Better for a lot of sleep,’ Liam answers with a nod. ‘Not much to be said for it.’ He frowns a little. ‘Does Lou look tired to you?’

‘Yes,’ Jay answers with a sigh, ‘but you won’t be able to tell him that until he falls down and sleeps through to mid-afternoon, just like somebody else in this room. And stop changing the subject, I’m mothering you.’

Liam ducks his head. ‘Sorry.’ 

Jay pats the duvet where the side of Liam’s leg is and stands. ‘Come on, I’ll make you tea. Then we’ll see if you’re ready to dive back into the madness, you think?’

Liam pulls on one of Louis’s massive football shirts that’s threadbare at the back of one shoulder, he’s had it for so long, and thinks: yeah, he is ready for that, just about. 

*

Reshoots in the middle of the scorching hot Utah desert leave Harry completely unprepared for the MTV Movie Awards in LA. The heat changes to something a bit more petrol-soaked and angry, but at least it gets him away from some of the more Republican glares that he gets whenever he ventures into Salt Lake City and out of the protective bubble of the crew and set. 

Harry knows the gossip about him. He hasn’t shied away from it. And like hell he’s not going to protect his best friends from their own share of it as best he can. The flight is only an hour and a half, at least, even if he has to spend that time again sitting in traffic in LA. 

Harry is very glad he drove to the airport in Utah to get some of the restlessness out of his system: LA might have roads, but nobody’s driving on them. 

_Stalling with style,_ Liam had called it once. 

Harry checks his twitter. One of his saved searches is ‘#paylinson’ now. The Lirry lot aren’t exactly taking it well. 

There’s pictures of Liam, suited and shiny shoes on, being led into a glass building by the hand. Louis’s pinstripe shirt is visible at the cuffs and collar of his own suit. They’ve both got sunglasses on - Harry assumes it’s the flashes, not the London sun. London doesn’t get that kind of sun except for once every five years. 

Harry immediately feels bad. He loves London. 

The traffic doesn’t improve his mood but they get to the chapel on time, just about. _Roads_ is a big enough deal that they don’t care when Harry shows up, just that he does, but Harry hates being late and stressing out people who are supposed to be looking after him. Shona is waiting as the car turns the second last corner and queues for the drop off. She jumps in and nods resolutely. 

‘Have you decided what to do about questions-’

Harry shakes his head tightly. 

Anyone else would tell him the studio’s opinion. Shona doesn’t. Harry loves Shona for that. 

‘You’re good at this, Styles. You’ll be fine.’ Shona hesitates. ‘Sometimes being a good friend is worth catching a bit of crap at work.’ 

Harry nods with a relieved smile and hopes he isn’t about to throw up. It’s been a while since he did that. He’s been doing so well. 

The wall of noise and screaming is the same as it always has been: strangely bracing and completely terrified. If Harry ever stops feeling it like a punch in the gut, he’s quitting and starting a small organic vegetables shop somewhere, because surely that’s the sign he’s been doing this too long. 

They cut his red carpet stops in half because he was late getting in. It’s a small mercy. Harry will take small mercies. They’ve been running driving stunts at 4am most days for ten days to catch the grey dawn light and to try to get a sunrise chase scene entirely finished off. 

‘Harry, my man, get over here!’

Ryan Seacrest is not a small mercy. Shona prods Harry in the back with a hissed apology when he stalls. He groans inside his head, plasters a smile on and wanders over to Ryan in a totally natural, unforced sort of way. 

‘Excited to be here, excited for the trailer? Pretty amazing - you’re filming the next one right now, aren’t you, and this one isn’t even out yet!’

Yes, amazing, if you don’t see his pointy little teeth clearly projecting _you little shit._ Harry needs sleep and Fruit Loops and compassion for all beings, even ones that are slimy, and not slimy like the cute little fuckers from Space Mountain. 

‘Yeah, yeah, so excited, can’t wait for everybody to see the trailer, ‘s gonna be awesome so you better keep watching,’ Harry grins to camera and gives it a couple of thumbs up. 

Ryan realigns the microphone so it’s right in front of Harry’s nose and the logo for the breakfast show is front and centre. ‘And will your bff Liam Payne be stepping out tonight?’

‘Busy man, our Liam,’ Harry grins tightly, ‘but there’s so many people here supporting us, and so many people at home who have been voting.’ 

Harry tugs Shona’s sleeve. Two minutes is an elastic sort of term, and if he tugs, Ryan’s two minutes are up soon. 

Harry can feel the question Ryan’s trying to shoehorn in. It’s Harry’s first public event since Liam and Louis were outed - before Liam’s even done one. Everybody wants to ask and they haven’t had anybody to ask until now, except when they’ve mobbed any of them trying to leave somewhere like their houses, or the set, which they’ve done every single day. 

‘But not your best friends, gay couple Liam Payne and Louis Tomli-’

He corrects Ryan before he has time to think otherwise, but in his defence, Seacrest is a bastard and he’s spent too long with Louis. 

‘Lou’s not gay.’

Shona pulls Harry away sharply and herds him inside. Harry’s spent long enough on film sets to feel every camera on his back as they go. 

_Shit,_ Harry thinks. 

* 

_’-but one of the main events that everyone's talking about took place outside the awards. These pictures, taken in April, seemed conclusive: Liam Payne is off the market, ladies, and off the market for good, but the man he admits is his partner is, according to Harry Styles, on camera to Ryan Seacrest, not gay. What are we to make of this new turn of events?’_

‘How about they mind their own business, eh? Ever heard of it? I can’t even begin to list how many offensive things they just said, I’ll punch something.’ The phone clatters off of the coffee table in the glass office of the London office that they’ve been using to regroup with the team. 

‘You know what Harry meant,’ Liam says quietly. ‘And you know he wasn’t just talking about you.’ 

‘Yeah, he’s right and I’m grateful, but I don’t think US network red carpets are the place for nuanced discussions of sexuality that isn’t gay or straight,’ Louis answers and drops into the seat next to Liam, hooking their ankles together under the table and groaning into his hands. 

Liam keeps quiet. He knows why they went after Harry so hard the first time he left Utah. It’s because they haven’t said anything except that one statement the week the pictures came out, and Lou’s had the teams on lockdown with threats of Hollywood excommunication for anyone turning traitor to the tabs. The mob were like starved sharks scenting blood. Liam feels rotten; they shouldn’t have left Harry out on a limb like that. 

‘Lou, do you think we have any chance of controlling this?’ Liam asks. He’s wanted to ask for a few days because he thinks he knows the answer. He thinks Louis knows the answer and that he’s trying to fight the tide anyway. 

‘Don’t write off the match yet, Li. One,’ Louis says into Liam’s elbow, eyes shut. He looks worn out. ‘We have one chance. But we need to do it soon.’ 

‘You know matches are played by teams,’ Liam says with a nudge and lets out an explosive breath. ‘So maybe you should sub me in already or get some help from your midfielders.’ 

‘Defenders. Your football talk is terrible, why do I put up with you, never explain the offside rule with salt and pepper,’ Louis protests, then yawns. Liam raises an eyebrow.

‘Food and then sleep?’

Louis glares. ‘I’m busy, not sick.’ 

‘One leads to the other. Remember that time you got that virus on the set of the zombie plague film-’ 

‘We don’t talk about that, remember? I maintain that you looked worse than me.’

‘I was in costume,’ Liam replies defensively. ‘As a warrior against the undead.’ 

‘You still brought me drugs and soup every two hours for four days.’ Louis feels his mouth forming a smile against his will at the memory. 

‘So I did,’ Liam says with a level look. 

‘And bullied me into resting up,’ Louis continues. ‘Stole my phone.’

‘You couldn’t be trusted with it. And I’ll do it again,’ Liam shoots back and pulls Louis to his feet. Louis lets him and turns into dead weight halfway through. Such a brat. ‘Plague make up and all.’ 

‘Ugh please,’ Louis protests. He’s half asleep under Liam’s arm anyway. 

‘Tomorrow you tell me how best I can help,’ Liam says insistently and pokes him in the side. 

‘Whatever, stop poking.’ Liam swallows a laugh. Make that _mostly_ asleep. 

* 

A phone rings in Primrose Hill at 3pm. 

Nick Grimshaw hates his friends, his life, his dog, and his hangover, but mostly his friends. Puppy licks his hand where it’s hanging off of the bed until Nick has to reach up and then he might as well answer the phone since it and his hand are barely apart anyway. 

‘’Ello, what.’

‘Nick Grimshaw? Your, em, your agent gave me your number.’

Oh, that’s just never a good start. Nick bangs his head against the headboard. It doesn’t help. 

‘Better tell me who you are then, but I’m telling you, I have a blinder of a headache that’s mostly my own fault and Auntie Absinthe helped, so you’d best get on with it sharpish, because I bet it’s too early for whatever this is.’

There’s a giggle down the phone. A giggle. Nick is going to kill his agent and Aimee. His agent for this, Aimee for the Absinthe. 

‘Sorry, mate. It’s just that me and Harry, we think your show is right funny, Harry used to listen to you back on the night time radio one show, even when he was in the States. Said it reminded him of home.’ 

Christ, he’s a fanboy. What if he starts talking about tumblr? Nick is not awake enough for this, or to lie about not knowing tumblr etiquette. He seriously considers hanging up. 

_’You sound like a fucking stalker!’_ Nick hears in the background. _’Tell the bloke who you are!’_

Thank you, random heckler, Nick thinks fervently, then wonders if he’s on a radio prank like the ones he used to organise. It would probably serve him right. Finchy and the others were on the town last night along with half the BBC. 

‘Um, yeah, anyway, it’s Liam Payne-’

_Fuck._

Oh fucking actual fuck, Nick thinks, _that_ Harry and Liam, Harry Styles and Liam Payne, what the ever-fucking-lasting fuck? He’s not wearing pants or a brain and there’s a _Roads_ poster on the back of his bedroom door that he got as a joke Christmas present but put up on his actual bedroom door because he liked it. Now it’s glaring at him. 

Nick staggers from his bed, blindly grabs boxers off the radiator rack and jams the phone against his ear again in time to hear, ‘Mate, you still there? Haven’t scared you right off like Louis says, have I?’ There’s peals of laughter in the background that can only be ‘Lou.’ Louis Tomlinson. The agent-manager-professional glare-mongerer. And also boyfriend. Right. Nick’s brain is reloading slowly. He’s remembering things like every front page for the last two months, so that whole Absinthe to Forget myth is clearly bollocks, except for how he can’t remember the night before.

‘Still here. Sorry about the hangover chat, great impression I’m making, what can I help with? Quiff construction, music recommendations, eh?’ Nick slaps his forehead and tells himself to shut up. His sober yesterself put a bottle of Lucozade and a packet of ibuprofen in the fridge where he’d find them quickly. Yester-Nick was amazing, top bloke. He downs two and half the bottle. ‘Seriously, though. I read internet like a young person. Anything I can do.’ 

There’s a pause, then Liam Payne says, ‘About that.’

*

The BBC decides to use the tagline _Liam Payne’s first interview!_ on the ads all week. Liam hates it, but Louis reluctantly agrees that it was too good a scoop to leave alone, so they keep it.

They also decide to do it live. To that Louis does not agree, at first, but Liam convinces him. Tells him it would a better interview, which Louis can’t really argue with. Nick Grimshaw’s show is fairly new, and is known for doing live shows unlike a lot of the newer chat shows, so it is a bit of a risk, but honestly considering the last few weeks, Liam’s ready for a bit of a risk. 

At least this time he and Louis know they’re being watched. 

Even Harry’s flying in, because of course, as soon as he heard they were doing Nick Grimshaw’s chat show - that it was going to be Liam’s first proper interview since the pictures came out - he was telling them that they were mad if they thought he wasn’t coming along to show support. Harry is wonderful, and also hides his crushes badly. It’s charming, really. No matter what Louis says. 

But Liam is feeling confident about it. He is. 

Mostly. 

The fact that the interview is live could be a bit of a clusterfuck, he’s well aware, but it’s worth it. That he’s sure about. 

The set’s nice at least. He likes all the blues and purples. He read once, he thinks, that the combination is meant to be soothing. He’s not feeling very soothed, to be honest. Maybe he read it wrong. 

To his side Nick is sitting on this comfy-looking chair and the couch Liam’s on feels too big. Instinctively, he looks over to where Louis is doing a horrible job at hovering inconspicuously and behind him in the audience there’s too many people looking between them. Maybe he should have told Louis to go and wait in the green room with Harry, but that would mean Louis wouldn’t be nearby and Liam would rather have him close. 

Harry can entertain himself, surely. 

Or he’ll come out when he’s bored. Harry can be predictable like that. Or maybe Liam knows him too well. 

Around them the crew is setting up and he and Nick get the minute mark. Liam swallows. He’s not going to walk out like they normally do on chat show. There’s no point. Liam is really the only guest, with Harry in a supporting role. Off in the badly-lit shadows he can see Louis shift from foot to foot. When he catches Liam’s eyes he stills and smiles. Liam smiles back. He can do this. He can. 

‘So, Mr. Payne, you going to make me look good?’

Liam turns to Nick, who is grinning too big, comically even, and chuckles. ‘I thought it was meant to be you making me look good.’

Nick waves him away, ‘Please, you don’t need my help looking good. This isn’t the Liam Payne Show, is it?’

Liam laughs. The cameraman is counting down ten seconds. ‘You’re funnier in person.’

Nick rolls his eyes, but blushes, obviously pleased. 

They go live. 

*

‘So you don’t mind if we get right to it, do you, Liam?’ Nick starts after the intro and a couple of jokes about the week. Liam likes his jokes better than the ones on Mock the Week and Harry’s laugh can be heard - if you happen to know it. Or if your eyes keep flickering to him in the green room camera, like Nick’s do. ‘No point in pissing about, we all know why you’re here.’ 

Somehow it doesn’t sound like an insult, just a statement of facts. 

‘Might as well,’ Liam says, clasping and unclasping his hands. He tries for a grin, one that Nick returns with a nod. ‘Ready when you are. Ask away.’ 

‘Brave lad,’ Nick says quietly. The audience laughs like a laugh track - Liam’s used to that on chat shows - but the way Nick nods and Louis visibly takes a breath tells Liam he meant it. ‘So did your mum cry? Mine cried, but she wasn’t exactly shocked, you know.’

Liam lets out the breath he’s been holding. ‘I thought I’d better tell her before I went off to film _The Parry_ , you know? First big film set. She definitely cried.’ Liam looks out to the camera. ‘Sorry, mum! I won’t mention the plates.’

Nick takes the cue like a pro and leans forward. ‘The plates?’

Liam mimes slapping his forehead. ‘Nope, mate, she’d kill me.’ 

Nick grins and leans on an elbow. ‘You know, I wanted to ask a couple of questions about that statement you put out in May. Think everybody in the world’s read it by now, so I won’t read it out-’ 

Liam blushes, ‘and my spelling’s rubbish.’

‘Can’t be perfect in every way, Payne, only Mary Poppins has that honour,’ Nick says grandly. Liam relaxes and thinks that if Louis didn’t despise his show, he might like Nick. ‘But you did choose your words awfully carefully. Why?’ 

Liam ducks his head, then remembers he’s not supposed to do that. Live TV is harder than scripted acting. He’s the worst for putting ums and ems in everywhere, not as bad as Harry, but who is? ‘I didn’t want people to make assumptions. Wanted to do it right, as right as I could after the photos and all that.’

‘You could have just said you were dating a man, but you didn’t,’ Nick presses gently. 

Liam nods and crosses his ankles then uncrosses them. Nick had warned him he’d get the heavy stuff out of the way quickly. ‘Because I’m gay, and it’s a word I’m happy using,’ Liam explains, ‘and I didn’t want people to have to make assumptions, or assume that they’d make assumptions, yeah, because they do that so much anyway, and it’s not really good enough.’ 

Liam keeps his head still and his eyes on Nick with conscious effort. He’s all-too-aware of the green room camera on Harry and the roving audience cam that will be cutting to Louis’s expressive, lovely face. 

‘That’s respectful of you, Liam,’ Nick says, and moves the interview along to the pictures, asking his permission to show them again and getting an ‘awwwwww’ out of the audience when he does. ‘Horrible circumstances, and I wouldn’t put a shirtless pic on my nan’s mantelpiece, but you’re looking rather lovely in these, if I do say so. I may have considered putting them up on my mantlepiece.’ 

Liam laughs and catches Louis’s eye at the side as Nick leers at the screen. 

‘Both of you, I mean, very nice,’ Nick finishes with a wink off to the side. Louis’s eyes narrow. ‘So you were on a plane to Utah - thrilling destination, you must tell me about that - when these delights found their way to twitter.’

*

After the more recent stuff and Liam’s had a chance to talk about his years in the closet, even from Louis (‘I didn’t want to make anybody’s life but my own any more complicated’), Grimmy sits back in his ridiculous chair and lets out a breath.

‘Almost sounds like you’ve been working hard,’ Liam says with a conspiratorial wink. He knows Louis will accuse him of flirting later. That’s half the fun. 

‘Too right, tea break?’ Nick reaches under his ridiculous purple desk and pulls out an actual teapot. ‘You lot are going to have to see to yourselves, this is live TV, pet, I can’t do everything myself!’ 

A runner magically appears and discreetly fills the teapot with hot water from a stained and battered but steaming kettle. 

‘Oi, Tomlinson!’ Nick shouts off to the side. Liam checks that the camera lights are still on. They are. It’s a weird show, but he doesn’t want to run away, so it must be working. ‘We’re about to talk about how you two lovebirds met, hear there’s a merman involved, sure you don’t want a cup?’ 

‘Lou doesn’t really do a lot of interviews,’ Liam says gently with a smile offstage and a nod to Louis, trying to communicate that he doesn’t have to do this. Not even a bit. 

Louis surprises him, though, and walks over from his post hovering by the first row of audience, takes an exaggerated step up onto the stage level. The cameras swirl to follow him. Liam grins and pats the space next to him on the couch but Louis narrows his eyes and puts his hands on his hips.

‘I’m only here because you’re bribing me with a brew. Shove over, Li,’ and plants himself on Liam’s left, with his right thigh pressing against Liam’s left. ‘You know me, got to be next to the teapot.’ 

The fact that Liam’s been separated from Nick by a desk, a teapot and a Louis doesn’t escape his notice. Sometimes Louis is such a territorial little shit. There’s a snort from the green room camera that says Harry noticed it too. 

‘What about you, filmstar? Somebody got you a cuppa?’ 

When Liam and Louis turn around to where Nick’s looking, Harry’s wearing a horrendous knitted tea cosy on his head and holding a CBeebies mug. Such a donut. ‘Can I keep the hat, Grimmy?’ 

‘Beautiful. Course you can’t, it’s the BBC!’ Nick shouts, but he’s clearly, obviously charmed. Liam sneaks a look at Louis as Nick announces, ‘If I can’t have robot wars as a weekly feature, Harry Styles doesn’t get a tea cosy. I don’t make the rules. Bugger, that’s because it’s a Channel 4 thing, isn’t it? I’m crap at this, me.’ 

*

They spend the next couple of minutes having tea and having a two room conversation with Harry, who still has the tea cosy on his head, when Harry finally gives in to the comment Liam’s sure he’s been biting back since they cut to him last. 

‘You know it’s not fair I’m still exiled back here and you three all are cosied up having a tea party together.’

Nick laughs, practically leaning on his hands as he looks at the screen with Harry. Next to Liam Louis takes the most judging sip of tea Liam has ever witnessed. Liam bites his lips as not to laugh. 

‘Well, my apologies, Mr. Harry Styles, but I’m afraid that can’t be helped. The couch we have isn’t big enough for all three of you.’

There’s a beat and then Liam, Louis, and Harry break down in laughter. Louis presses more fully against his side and on the green room screen Harry is practically out of the shot, doubled over in laughter. Behind his purple desk, Nick looks pouty at being laughed at and Liam does feel a little bad. It’s not his fault he’s new. Gaining control of his laughter, because Harry and Louis are actually horrible and haven’t stopped, Liam grins at Nick, his arm curving automatically over Louis’s shoulder as he starts to quiet. 

‘Clearly, I’m missing some delicious inside joke,’ Nick says, sounds a bit stroppy, to be honest. 

Liam takes pity. ‘No, nothing like that.’ He glances at Louis, who is covering his giggles with his hand and smiles. ‘It’s just… trust us, this sofa is plenty big for the three of us. Once we were watching a film and I think we were in Italy--’ ‘Paris.’ Louis corrects, and Liam nods, because it was Paris the moment he was thinking of. 

‘Right, Paris. And the hotel room’s couch was possibly half the side of this and we ended up sleeping there the whole night.’

On the screen, Harry has stopped laughing. ‘It was a good nap.’

Liam turns and nods at him, ‘It was.’

‘So, can I come out now? I’ll bring my own cup.’

Liam turns to Nick and smiles. It’s entirely possible he uses the smile that Harry and Louis call ‘unfair even to puppies’, but he’s not even sure it works on Nick. NIck’s not exactly looking at Liam when he shouts at Harry to come on over and less than a minute later there’s a desk, a teapot, a Louis, and a Harry separating Liam from Nick. He’s not even surprised.

*

When Nick finishes the outro from the couch - ‘Bet we could get a fourth in, Nick, come over and try it with us, bet you could fit under my arm,’ said Harry - and the camera red lights all go out, and audience starts to be ushered to the exits, Liam witnesses something truly extraordinary. 

‘Pub?’ Grimmy says, looking at them and letting out a breath. Liam remembers: it wasn’t just a risk for him tonight. 

‘Pub!’ says Louis, tugging at Liam to stand up. ‘Pub.’ 

The two head off, talking locals and where they’re least likely to get recognised, while Harry and Liam look at each other. ‘Do you think they’ll ever agree on anything again?’

Liam laughs with Harry until he falls off of the couch, then he goes and watches his best mate, his boyfriend and his best mate’s object of affection get shitfaced.

Funnily enough, it’s the first night in a while that Harry doesn’t end up back at the London house, and Liam’s pretty sure he doesn’t go to his own place either, if he even remembers where that is. They bump into a bloke with a pretty face and a gold streak in his quiff as they leave the pub, a bit of the smoke from his cigarette getting into Liam’s eyes as he apologises and the bloke waves him off with a ‘no worries, bro’ and a laugh, but Liam barely hears him as Louis is already pulling him up the street to catch a cab.

*

Before when they went out and got pissed, Louis did try to maintain a loose professional hold on his desires to do dirty things to Liam’s mouth while in public. He’s still pretty good about that. It’s still fairly new that they’re public, and if one thing has to be said about having the entire world know about them now is that he can snog his boyfriend wherever the hell he pleases. Fuck everyone else. 

Still, there’s something to be said about pressing your boyfriend up against the wall in the house you’re both living in and knowing that nobody can bother you. 

Even Harry is gone for the night, it seems, and while Louis is sure Harry could do better, right now he only cares about how red Liam’s mouth looks as Louis from it and works his way down his neck. When he bites at Liam’s birthmark, Liam hisses and Louis grins. 

‘Just you and me tonight, Payno.’

Liam tugs him closer, his hands digging under Louis’s jeans to squeeze as his arse and Louis groans. He sucks harder at Liam’s skin. 

‘It’s always just you and me, Lou.’

His words are a little slurred, tipsy they both are, after the fifty or so rounds Grimshaw and Harry insisted on, but his voice is soft and it warms Louis right up. He tugs Liam’s mouth back to his and shove a thigh between Liam’s. 

‘Corny sap, you are.’

He can feel Liam’s smile stretch over his lips even as they continue to kiss.

‘You came on stage tonight,’ Liam says, nipping at Louis’s lip and then sucking on it. Liam’s mouth should be illegal. Also it’s not his fault Grimshaw is a shameless flirt and was practically ready to crawl on Liam’s lap. His hips press tight against Liam’s and they both moan. That should show him.

‘Yes, I did. Now I just want to come.’

Liam laughs and suddenly with a squeeze to him bum all the warning he has, Louis’s feet are off the ground. He’s pretty sure the easy way Liam can pick him up will never stop being the sexiest thing in the world. His dick rubs against Liam’s between their jean and fuck, why are they talking so much? They could be doing so much more important things. 

‘So impatient,’ Liam murmurs against Louis’s neck and hurries them to their room. 

‘Such a fucking tease, I swear to god--’ Louis gets cut off as Liam drops him down on the bed and before Louis can protest he’s fumbling with Louis’s belt and yes, good. Liam is his favourite. Liam is the best. And then Liam’s mouth is sucking him down and Louis can’t help his shout.

Liam pulls of to smile cheekily at him before lowering his head again and licking a stripe at the underside of Louis’s dick. 

‘Don’t come yet, I want you to fuck me tonight.’

His absolute fucking favourite.

*

@stylish1994: im still confused about who’s dating who but they all love each other a lot so that’s nice??? #grimmytimebbc #lirry #paylinson

*

It doesn’t get easier after that, but the good days start to outnumber the bad days, and between the statements and the interview, they finally have something to point to when people ask questions they’d rather not answer this time and say _I’ve said all I’m saying about that, if we could go back to the film please._ Liam finally gets Louis to go to bed at the same time as him, or wake up with him, rather than being on the laptop in the kitchen before Liam gets up and after he goes to bed. 

Harry starts to lump his filming days together in Utah into bigger chunks and take longer weekends in the New York loft rather than days off on set; the local judgement is getting to him, they can tell, so eventually they pick one of his weekends in the city and go out to meet him for a break of their own, too. 

If only, Liam thinks, the bad days weren’t so very, very bad sometimes. 

Louis comes back into the room in the New York loft and shakes his head. Harry winces from where he’s hand washing cups with the _Mamma Mia_ logo and Muppets faces on; he’s paranoid that the dishwasher will ruin the designs and he’s probably not wrong. 

Liam controls his expression and hopes Lou’s ability to read even his most minimal micro expressions has taken a day off while the Nick Grimshaw interview settles and they try to take a quiet break. Louis raises an eyebrow and idly shreds a page of a discarded magazine. His hands seem disconnected to the rest of him. They’re a blur of fidgeting motion where his eyes are harder and colder than Liam’s seen in a while. 

Louis breaks eye contact and shakes his head at Harry. Liam blinks - he hadn’t realised Harry had asked a question. ‘Broken. Two days ago. Of all the bloody timing.’

‘Reception?’ Liam asks. ‘Marty at the desk could get us out.’

Louis shakes his head again. ‘It’s a good building’ - Liam fights back a grin, of course it is, Louis _chose_ it - ‘but it’s a bad week for this. Road works on one side and the stairwell at the back is being fixed up.’

Liam squares his shoulders. Harry gives him a look over Lou’s shoulder and moves away from the sink. He’s got a MOMA towel over his shoulder and his arms are stronger than they look. Liam knows this because Harry’s done the same thing to him as he’s doing to Louis; Harry’s snuck up behind him and he’s forcing his shoulders down while he mutters sincere things in his ear and pushes his thumbs into his shoulder blades. 

Louis frowns and flexes his fingers like a cat uncurling claws before sighing and relaxing back. Liam gives Harry a quick smile as he moves away and turns Louis by the elbow towards the bedroom. 

‘You’ve got plans for this,’ Liam says quietly, ‘It’s not like we haven’t done crowds before.’

‘With a team,’ Louis snaps back, tugging up his collar and pushing his hands into the pockets, then taking the fitted coat back off again. ‘With guards. With one person they were gunning for and me dragging you through before you were nice to them, not with them after us _both.’_

Liam watches as he swears, takes the coat off, tugs the red sleeves over his hands and pushes back into the coat. ‘Could call Paul? Must be someone in town, or the agency could send emergency people.’

Louis shakes his head and fusses with his collar some more. ‘Normally I’d say fuck the flight and wait on a team but you have the charity thing in London and the next flight with seats isn’t for hours. There’s no planes worth chartering and the team aren’t going to get here in time, and yes, I already emailed them half an hour ago.’ 

Louis’s frown deepens and Liam knows why; because if Liam were another asset and Louis were another agency handler Louis would say ‘fuck the charity thing’ and they’d wait and Liam would get annoyed about it. Except Louis knows how much this event means to Liam, and he’s susceptible to ‘the eye thing’ that Liam _does not_ do, and Liam knows Louis is angry because he’s about to take the closest thing he’ll countenance to an unprofessional risk. 

Liam tries not to walk over to Louis and try to hug the tense out of him. He knows better. Louis is in full on prickly hedgehog mode and Harry, Hollywood and Liam have found out the hard way that the only thing to do is wait it out; Harry still volunteers for verbal decapitation by wading in to let Louis bleed the edge off. The boy has no survival instinct.

‘They weren’t supposed to find this place. Nobody knew about the loft. That's why we don't have the guards, for fuck's sake,’ Louis mutters under his breath, ringing off with the front desk on his mobile, fist tight around it. The building staff could be happier about the situation since they’ve had to bar the front door, block access to the building and phone any occupants who weren’t at home already. 

Liam bites his tongue again. There’s so much he wants to say but nothing will convince Louis this one isn’t his fault. ‘You know they know where we live in London _and_ L.A.. This was going to happen some time.’ 

‘But they can’t get to us there,’ Louis replies immediately. His back is one long sharp line, the curve of his waist into his hips more visible in his stance. Liam narrows his eyes; Lou’s been working hard lately, and running himself ragged, even since the Nick Grimshaw interview. 

Liam decides he’s got less survival instinct left than even Harry where Louis is concerned. He walks over to him, lifts his wrists with the circles of his thumbs and index fingers, then tugs the red knit cuffs down to the knuckles. Louis lets out a sound of wordless rage and shifts but doesn’t move away. 

When they go back out into the living room, Harry’s got his favourite long black coat and a grim expression on like they’re about to scale the trenches. His eyes flicker to their joined hands but he doesn’t say anything. Louis might have been the one to grab Liam’s hand first but Liam’s the one who wouldn’t let him let go. 

‘Not a chance,’ Louis snaps, waving his other hand at Harry’s attire. Harry’s eyes fill with something like hurt and Liam shakes his head over Louis’s shoulder. 

‘Haz, we aren’t gonna have a team or anything,’ Liam says quickly and feels his mouth twist. He’s not nervous about trying to get through a pack the way he would have been once but it’s been a while since they did it without Paul or anyone else - and they haven’t done it since the press had good reason to be looking at Louis, too, and Liam wants more than anything to put himself in front of him, even though it should be the other way. 

Harry nods as Louis sighs - the kind where he sounds more angry at himself than anyone else - puts a hand flat to his hip and swears. ‘Back in a minute - left my bloody satchel in the other room, didn’t I?’ 

Harry’s got a frown forming and Liam lowers his voice. ‘Car service picked up the bigger bags this morning.’

‘Paul?’ Harry’s eyes light up.

‘No Paul,’ Liam answers quietly. ‘Nobody knew we were here. Bodyguards would have been really obvious.'

‘Oh,’ Harry lets out, shoulders slumping. ‘Li, what if you-’

‘He won’t and I wouldn’t let him,’ Liam says quickly.

‘Won’t let me what?’ Louis cuts in, leaning on the doorframe with his Vans checked backpack and his satchel on. (The Vans backpack is new because Louis can’t ever _not_ pick up a new bag, apparently.) Liam stuffs his wallet and phone in various pockets and nods. 

‘Harry was just saying-’

‘You could leave separately.’ 

Harry’s a stubborn bastard, Liam will grant him that. 

The idea isn’t entirely without merit - there’s a chance, a small one, but a chance, that the press would leave if Liam or Harry went out first to draw them off and Louis could follow. But Louis’s nails are sharp in his palm and he’s close enough that his elbow is in Liam’s ribs all of a sudden, the possessive shit. 

‘Would, Curly, but we don’t have time to wait them out this time,’ Louis replies and shifts the bag straps. ‘And fucked if Liam’s going out there on his own.’

The look Harry gives them both is ridiculously long-suffering. ‘Funny. That’s what he was just saying about you.’

Louis flashes Liam a completely sincere and shy little smile that’s got a bit of surprise in it. ‘You’re not the only stubborn one in this relationship,’ Liam mutters into Louis’s ear. He supposes he didn’t need to lean so close to do it, but when has that ever stopped him? 

Louis looks down and the smile holds. ‘Better get this over with then, eh?’

‘You shall go to the ball!’ Harry says with a grin, then kisses them both on their cheeks. ‘Both of you in tuxes, I can’t believe I’m not going to be there to take pictures before you get in the limo.’ 

Louis ruffles his hair and Liam hugs him again. Then it’s just them and the good mood quickly disappearing into the floor as the dream of getting to London fades into the reality of getting to the airport. 

‘I called the airport,’ Louis says in response to the nothing filling the lift as Liam punches the button for the ground floor lobby. ‘And the car service. Airport security will get us straight through to the first class lounge as soon as we get there and the car is going to stop just on the pave-’

Liam puts a hand over Louis’s mouth because he can’t listen anymore and crowds him into the corner of the lift. Sometimes he forgets how much broader he is nowadays. ‘This isn’t your fault and we’re going to be fine and you did plan for this.’

Louis slumps forward slightly and Liam feels his weight rest against the hand at his mouth in a kiss to Liam’s palm before he lets his hand fall. 

‘You said that crowds can be scary sometimes,’ Louis replies and Liam blinks. He did say that, but he said it _years_ ago, and he said it before he’d gotten used to having Louis beside him when they went through them. 

Before Liam can say any of that, the lift pings that they’ve reached the lobby and it’s time to go. 

The building's security guards and manager are gathered by the desk keeping a wary eye on the door. The press outside are sitting calmly until they spot Liam and Louis exiting the lift and then it’s like a zombie film come to horrible life complete with rattling the damn doors. ‘Shit,’ Louis mutters under his breath. ‘Maybe I can bribe someone to -’

Liam really doesn’t want to hear the end of that sentence. Louis gets _creative_ when he’s backed into a corner. He grabs his hand and waves to the desk instead, pastes on his best probably fake grin. It’ll have to do. 

‘We’re ready to get you your building back now,’ Liam says. 

‘I’m so sor-’ one of the men at the desk begins. 

Louis jerks his head hard enough that Liam feels the movement in his hand. 

‘Thanks, Mr Payne. Mr Tomlinson. We’d appreciate that,’ the building manager intercedes smoothly instead. She’s a lady about the age of Louis’s mum in a sharply-cut blazer jacket and Liam gains a sudden respect for her when she signals the man on the desk to help her get the doors open and yells at the press like they’re cars getting too close to her on a road. This, Liam thinks, is why Louis and Harry love New York so very much. 

The shouting is very, very loud now. There’s press already shouting in questions and the sound of fans screaming.

‘Thanks,’ Louis says in a low voice, putting a hand on her elbow and nodding back to the building. ‘You should-’

She nods and Louis follows her in with his eyes until they meet Liam’s.

*

Louis watches Felicia go into the building and pick up an extension without a further look to the pack swarming her building and thinks _cool guys don’t look at explosions._

It’s possible he’s a bit tense and potentially hysterical though.

Liam walks forward and Louis marvels at the switch in his stance - suddenly Louis isn’t watching Liam, the giant dork he loves and apparently, shares multiple houses with, he’s watching Liam Payne gearing up to get in the boxing ring, the same roll of his shoulders and film star look from under his eyelashes and over his jawline that had Louis watching _The Parry_ on repeat before they even met. 

Liam takes his hand, telegraphing the move in time for Louis to signal for him not to, leans in to kiss Louis’s cheek in front of the glass doors and pushes the door with his free hand. Louis’s boyfriend is _evil_ and he is _so_ proud, except for how he can hear the shouts spiking horrendously from the press and fans outside. Louis doesn’t even have time to think about how often he’s done the crowd walk-through with clients before Liam pulls him out and into it - or to swap their places so he’s in front like a good PA should be. 

Christ, it’s loud though. 

This is the problem with being the best at what you do: it’s been a while since Louis hasn’t been able to get them _around_ these kinds of crowds, and they’ve never had press attention like this before. 

Louis can see the car through the legs of the crowd - he can see where there’s pissed off looking NYPD traffic cops, too, and he can just about hear the sounds of cars blaring their horns. Ten feet, maybe fifteen, but there must be hundreds of people trying to press in on them. 

There’s flashes and so much noise that it’s actually deafening. Liam’s hand tightens around Louis’s and he realises that, for all they’ve shot films with live singing and done premieres and stunts with explosions, the wall of noise was enough to make Liam stagger, too. 

Louis gets angry like he’d forgotten what angry _is_ until now. He gets angry like the Hulk. 

Six feet.

There’s hands clawing at them and Louis feels the heat of Liam’s palm in one hand and the cold of the satchel buckle in another. Thank _fuck_ he padlocked the backpack.

The questions don’t resolve themselves into words until someone says Harry’s name. Louis knows better - he knows better - but he feels his heels dig in and turns his head enough. 

Just enough to hear the question. 

*

Liam scrambles into the car and turns, arms open. Louis throws himself backwards into the backseat and claws the door shut behind them. The driver doesn’t need told twice: the car turns with more squeal than force, horn blaring, and any paps who get their expensive lenses left under the wheels are having a worse day than they are. 

Liam’s just managed to get his hands on both of Louis’s shoulders next to the bag straps when Louis shifts out of his grip and over to the other side of the backseat, dragging his phone out of the satchel and swearing. ‘Shit, Li, phone-’

Liam hands Louis his phone without thinking twice and picks up the one that Louis casually, violently, throws onto the seat between them. It’s fucked, to put it politely. ‘How’d this happen?’ He’s actually curious. The satchel has mysterious protective powers over everything in it. 

‘No fucking idea but I bet it was their fucking fault back there,’ Louis says, pen between his teeth and scribbling on the back of a brown envelope while texting with his other hand. 

‘Lou-’

‘Yes, Liam?’

‘What are you doing?’

Louis actually stops and fixes Liam with a look that’s pure and utter bafflement. ‘You did-’

Liam reaches over and plucks the pen from between his teeth. Louis rolls his eyes. 

‘You did hear the part where I just told the press - most of them, if that crowd was as big as it sounded - to ‘fuck right off’?’ 

‘I did,’ Liam replies calmly, and oh god, he almost wants to laugh about it a little. He knows Louis shouldn’t have. He knows he _really_ shouldn’t have. Liam’s always so careful not to offend anyone. He makes Louis check his spelling before he tweets apologies sometimes - well, he did, until he realised it was giving Louis a chance to veto those apologies. 

‘The least professional thing any PA has ever done maybe ever?’ Louis says incredulously, and he actually looks like an owl. Blinks like one. 

‘So we call this scene damage control,’ Louis continues slowly, darting for the phone again as if he’s won some sort of argument. 

Liam grabs his wrist instead and fixes him with a look. Outside, New York slips past them in a blur of movement while they sit perfectly still. ‘I heard the question.’

Louis blinks. ‘The part where -’

‘The part where they had the bloody nerve to ask if you were really gay or if Harry was being stupid, yes,’ Liam says deliberately, and he doesn’t let himself think about it too hard or he’ll want to go back there and say things himself. He’d thought it would be enough that he came out as gay and answered questions about it at first; he hadn’t realised how much it was opening Louis - and Harry, even - up to the same questions, and he knows how they don’t have the same answers as Liam does, but people are so very keen to assume and know. 

Louis’s eyebrows go up. ‘You’re angry.’

‘Bloody right I am,’ Liam replies, and he still hasn’t let go of Louis’s wrist, so he turns their hands until he’s holding it instead. ‘At them. All of them. Anybody who thinks they get to ask you that before you say you’re willing to answer.’

The truth is: Liam knows Louis, and loves him, too. He couldn’t feel that way without thinking there was a chance that something like this could happen. He’d known he wouldn’t be angry at Louis for the dire crime of being himself in public - he feels guilty _enough_ that Louis working for Liam still means Louis holding bits of himself back sometimes, even now he doesn’t work for the agency - but Liam hadn’t anticipated just how angry he was ready to be at _everyone else._

Louis lets out a breath. ‘Li, I should still-’

‘Have you told the team?’ Liam cuts him off, won’t look away from him because he knows the second he does, Louis will be back on a phone or writing a list of ways to control the damage. 

‘They’ve seen,’ Louis says through gritted teeth and _oh, fuck,_ Liam thinks: that means some arsehole with a cameraphone has uploaded something to twitter _already._ Still. Not their problem. Not this time. 

‘Phone,’ Liam says. Louis holds onto it for another second because he’s a child sometimes, but then releases it into Liam’s palm. Liam tickles his hand while he loads twitter, bypassing the texts from Harry that he’ll have to answer in a minute. Or maybe Louis already has because a text alert with a preview comes in while he’s loading the twitter app and all it says is: _Oh, Lou. You didn’t screw anything up. x_

‘That’ll do, don’t you think?’ Liam says after he’s tweeted. He loads his profile and turns the screen to Louis on the seat between them. 

Louis’s shoulders drop and he huffs out a quiet laugh. _’Liam.’_

Liam has a sudden moment where he thinks he’s fucked up - that he probably shouldn’t have spoken _for_ Louis like that, even though he’s been trusting Louis to speak for him for years now. Then Louis is bending in two to laugh into his knees like he’s letting out all of the stress and pent up anger from the day in one go and Liam feels himself breathe again. 

‘C’mere,’ Liam answers instead, ignoring how he feels his cheeks heating up, and pulls Louis over against his chest. They’re going over a bridge - Liam can’t remember which one - and the whole of New York’s skyline is dipping into a sunset. ‘This is why you love leaving this weird, weird city before night, remember?’

Louis huffs against him and nods, tucking his head under Liam’s chin so his hair tickles the scruff Liam hasn’t shaved off yet. 

*

**@Real_Liam_Payne** : Lou & me rly excited to be bk in london soon. Amazin charity @lgbt_youth supporting all LGBT ppl thru bullying out or not or decided or not. give if u can. -L&Lx  
 _78,854 RTs; 198,211 favourites  
sent from Twitter app, New York City, USA_

**@Real_Liam_Payne** : @lirryr2real_4u yeahhhh thats not how this works. lou can answer Qs ppl ask him on his day off any way he lieks. we love each other.   
_52,766 RTs; 131,933 favourites  
sent from Twitter app, New York City, USA_

**@Real_Liam_Payne** : thanks to every one asking how to donate 2 @lgbt_youth. t.co.uk/454igss. we’re leaving now - think we look all rite? instagram.com/3954s….

[image: Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson in black tie, photograph taken by Tomlinson on Payne’s iPhone in a full length mirror. Both are grinning. Tomlinson could be said to look smug.]

_143,814 RTs; 192,305 favourites  
sent from Twitter app, London, UK_


	8. Chapter 8

_**6\. write my name on stars (so you can see it)** _

_(Harry is 22.)_

 

‘Oh, oh no, I’m _old,’_ Harry slurs in a loft bar in New York the weekend after his birthday. 

It disappears into the general chaos of his impromptu ‘yeah you should like come along, maybe, couple of drinks, yeah’ birthday party. At Liam’s conservative estimate, the party’s taken over an entire building full of fairy lights and drinks served in jam jars by people dressed like very clean farmers. There’s a lot of bands playing pop up gigs, and everybody seems to have a banjo or a ukulele. Liam thinks it’s pretty cool, even if Lou and Lou confiscated his plaid years ago. It’s a nice change from their usual events and as cool as Elton John is, he does keep cornering Liam at formal events like the Met Ball and the Tony’s to make him promise to come to his Oscar after-party and sing around the piano. 

Louis, Liam and Nick burst out laughing. Louis and Nick look at each other with pure suspicion. Harry doesn’t notice and Liam laughs again while Harry asks if he’s got any grey hairs yet. 

‘Shut up, Curly,’ Louis says, diving and getting his elbow around Harry’s neck. Not like Harry fights him off much. ‘Don’t you know you’re in the distinguished company of people in their _mid-to-late twenties?_ We’re a delicate bunch!’ 

Nick catches the Harry that Louis throws his way. 

Louis disapproves of just about everything but he’s mercifully holding his tongue and getting pissed, especially when he realises that they’re being ignored a bit more than usual. The looks are more curious: Liam being out and gay and young has caused a lot of waves, but they’re working for the greater good, especially since he’s at the start of his career, not the end. 

Harry balances against Nick and then they both clear their throats and move apart. 

Liam and Louis swap a look. 

‘Dancing!’ Louis announces before it can get awkward. ‘I have a hot boyfriend who likes dancing!’ 

Then it gets awkward. 

‘Come on, Haz, let’s all get out there and flail a bit,’ Liam says, dragging Nick to his feet before drunk Louis can say anything else. 

They dance the night away in the cleared space between three wrecked couches. 

Liam leans into Harry as Nick and Louis studiously ignore each other and also compete for cool points in their own very different ways. ‘Is this actually a night club? Are we trashing somebody’s house, oh god?’ 

Harry grins like Liam’s just given him a present and pulls Liam into a hug that turns into a waltz as a blonde guy with Irish flag facepaint fist bumps Louis and declares himself the judge of the dance off. ‘I have no actual idea!’ 

‘Harold! I need you! I’m going to do that frog jumping thing, I’m amazing!’

*

Two months later, Louis gets a text from one of the many, many people Harry had introduced him to at the New York shindig, where they were lucky not to get arrested, or end up in A&E after Lou’s party trick backfired on a low ceiling. 

At the time, Louis had decided that anybody Harry introduced by saying that Harry ‘met him at one of Grimmy’s parties, he’s really great’ was getting his secondary email address, especially a film director of all people, but Ben actually seems pretty solid, bit less of a fuckabout upon googling than Louis was expecting. 

Speaking of, Liam’s spent the entire week fucking about with scripts he’s got no intention of taking. It’s driving Louis a bit spare, if he’s honest. So he takes Ben’s invitation to meet up for a drink more positively than he might otherwise have done, especially when Liam emerges from the home office with a _red pen_ behind his ear, a look in his eyes like a lost puppy and a script in hand. 

_’Pub!’_ Louis announces. Liam gives him the Puss in Boots eyes again. He almost caves. But he is a _professional._ ‘I’m not helping until you have a shortlist. Or marry, fuck and kill piles.’ 

Liam bites back a laugh. _’Lou.’_

‘I mean it!’ Louis waves a hand behind him and shrugs on his peacoat over his light wool jumper. ‘If the script doesn’t have you awwing or drooling, get rid. I’m not helping until then. Feelings, Payno, it has to give you _feelings.’_

‘But I could help it be a better film-’

Louis’s hand stills on the door. He is a softie and a terrible human and Liam is evil. Louis ducks his head back in. ‘I’ve got my mobile, okay? Love you!’ He shuts the door as Liam shouts back that he loves him too, even if he’s an unhelpful arse. 

Liam’s probably the love of Louis’s life but he might kill him if he moves the video game adaptation that has TERRIBLE SHOCKING APPALLING CINEMA written all over it into the maybe pile one more sodding time. 

He feels underdressed the second he gets out of the cab. 

Ben Winston is waiting on him in a posh wine bar in a basement and it’s so tasteful Louis could cry, oh god. He’s suited and booted and lounging by the bar. 

‘Mr Bond,’ Louis greets him, because he doesn’t cry, he fucking _swims._ Or something. 

‘Forgive the formal?’ Ben says with a completely unpretentious smile and signals the barman. ‘I was meeting some potential funders; they always pick places like this. What can I get you?’

Louis shrugs. His googling has revealed some expensive expeditions and documentaries on Ben’s CV - he and Liam have done this studio funding dance themselves - and the money must have come from somewhere.

‘One of the ciders. Sweet, in a bottle, please,’ Louis answers to the barman.

‘Did you see Horan got his pet project out of development hell?’ Ben says conversationally. ‘It’s been long enough coming.’

‘Good on him, good lad,’ Louis nods; he and Liam saw that in the Hollywood Reporter the week before. ‘Wonder who he’ll get for the lead. I’ve heard everybody and their granny are after it, not bad for an indie.’ 

‘He’ll pick right,’ Ben answers, nodding, and Louis remembers that Ben knows Niall Horan a lot better than he does. Directors, honestly. ‘He’s got good instincts.’ Ben lifts the drinks as the barman takes the top off of Louis’s cider. ‘Right, enough work chat. Let’s grab a seat.’

Excellent, Louis thinks, a whole night not talking about _scripts._

* 

Two and a half hours later the dinner-eaters have left the venue and London is buzzing outside the window with its flood of nighttime party-goers. Louis has moved Ben from the category of ‘via Grimshaw, are we sure?’ into ‘top bloke.’ He sees what Harry sees in him, the steadiness, the kind of bloke who puts you up in his loft after a rough night and has a fry up in the kitchen the next day, no fuss. Apparently it’s an offer Harry’s taken up more than once when he hasn’t been continuing his label-free whatever with Grimmy himself. 

‘He’ll pick the right one, he always does, yeah, but like, this bit, it’s so annoying? Because he’s so lovely-’

Ben laughs into his drink. Somehow, they’ve gotten drunk.

‘-no, no, I’m serious, he just wants to give them all a _fair chance,_ so he reads them slowly and carefully with this little frown, and _I know_ if he likes it or not, and he’s _always_ made his mind up in the first few pages, but he tries, you know? It’s horrible! Don’t move in with anyone. It’s horrible.’

Ben raises his left hand and there’s a ring on it. ‘Too late. Last year, mate.’ 

‘You don’t regret it though, yeah?’ Louis finds himself asking with a hiccup and sudden intensity. Oh, he’s so drunk. So drunk. 

‘Couldn’t.’ Ben’s smile is disgusting. Huh. Bloody marrieds, Louis thinks. He’s not jealous. He has a Liam. Nobody else has a Liam. ‘I have a script,’ Ben says with a swig of his pint. ‘The funders. I have a script. Well it’s more like an idea. But it’s really good.’ Ben frowns at the table. ‘I was going to ask earlier. Or better. But I do! And now I have the money to do it!’

‘Bloody brilliant, mate! Let’s get another and drink to it!’ 

Ben agrees, looking a bit blindsided. 

Louis narrows his eyes as his brain clicks into place. For some reason he’s not entirely on point. But the bottles of artisan organic cider make an out-of-season Christmas tree on the table and the fairy light mesh winks through them, so it’s all good. 

‘You invited me out because of my _client._ J’accuse, sir!’ Louis huffs and points across the table. Ben’s a sweet guy and blushes. Louis crushes the part of him that wants to relent at that. 

‘I wanted to ask you if he’d like the _idea,’_ Ben defends, hands up in surrender. ‘I thought you didn’t work with him anymore.’ He pauses. ‘It’s not the kind of money he’s used to but I’ve wanted him to look at it for ages, since he posted a bunch of pictures doing outdoor climbing on his twitter.’ He tilts his head. ‘Client? You’re old marrieds already. Take it from a smug married.’ 

Louis waves that off like the Doctor trying to explain science to humanoids. ‘Has he put a ring on it? He hasn’t.’ He sighs and taps a finger against his chin. ‘Go on then. You’d better tell me about this “idea” and then we can get back to bitching and drinking, deal?’ 

Ben shakes on it earnestly. Louis files it away grudgingly as another reason Liam would get on with him. 

* 

Liam falls asleep on top of a script he’s sure he’s read before. Then he checks his imdb page in case he’s made it before. He’s made something very similar, it turns out. He still doesn’t know why they’re sending it to him.

It goes in the ‘no’ pile. 

His mobile rings. He picks it up before he can listen to the first three bars of Lou’s ringtone. 

‘Lou, hey, how’s it-’

‘LEEE-YUM!’ 

Liam grins. Oh, he’s so drunk. Drunk Louis is amazing. One of his favourites. (They’re all his favourites.) 

‘GET IN A TAXI!’

‘Lou, are you okay? Where am I going?’ Liam’s already shrugging into a jacket and speed-dialling the automated line for the driving firm Paul recommended for out of hours on the house phone. 

‘Oh, shit, Ben shut up, I _worried Liam!’_

Liam relaxes a little as Ben giggles in the background. 

‘Li, we’re fine, you just- we’re going to Ben’s house, where he lives with his lovely wife Mer-e-dith, because they are happily married-’

Louis takes a lot of time making sure he gets all of the syllables correct. Liam keys the alarm and the house lockdown from the front door keypad. He doesn’t know what they’d do without it, even if Louis protested it was like living inside an Apple store. 

‘-and you are going to listen to Ben’s amazing idea!’ 

*

Ben does a lovely, lovely fry up, Louis is sure, but he’s very glad that Meredith and Liam take the lead on the cooking the next morning if Ben’s head feels anything like his. He also hopes Meredith is giving Liam tips on how to not overcook the eggs, he could use them. 

*

‘Oh, I forgot it was such a _total mess_ in here!’ Liam shouts in his very best pointed way when he walks back into the bedroom.

Louis follows and rolls his eyes as he takes his jacket off. ‘Don’t you think it was a bit more important to take Lou and Tom and Harry to lunch on our last day in London?’

Liam pretends to weigh it up and trips on a shoe. ‘Ow!’

‘We’re packing!’ Louis yells from the hall over the sound of the kettle they’ve got plugged into the landing while the rest of the house undergoes renovations. Liam loves Louis to bits but he’s probably the only person who thinks the other, working kitchen is too far away to get a cup of tea in. ‘It’s going to be a tip! We’re going away for eight months! All over the world!’ 

‘Lou’s going to be so huge when we get back,’ Liam grins and shouts back. 

‘You get to tell her, I’m not saying that!’ Louis sticks his head back around. ‘Good thing Harry warned us to bring presents. He’s going to spoil that kid rotten.’ 

Liam’s seen Louis around babies. ‘As if we aren’t.’

‘And she or he will deserve every single bit of it.’ Louis grins and heads back out to deal with the tea and get the milk from the mini fridge. 

Liam throws Louis’s shoe to where its partner is lying haphazardly next to Louis’s open, empty first suitcase. He was resolute this time. Louis is packing for himself. And not sharing Liam’s suitcase. Liam’s suitcase is neat. The contents of Lou’s suitcases - multiple - are all over the bedroom floor. 

‘Do you think Harry will miss us?’ Liam shouts as Louis takes the tea for a walk around the park, shows it the sights, and might eventually come back to get on with his packing. 

‘Terribly! Horribly! It’s not like we can jump on a plane to Utah or Canada every other weekend like every other one of those bloody shoots!’ 

Really, what _is_ Louis doing with the tea? That sounded like he was on the stairs. Why would he have gone downstairs? If he’s got dust in Liam’s tea, the renovations on the gym and second basement are kicking up so much mess in the house -

‘Got you a biscuit,’ Louis says at his ear, pressing a hot mug into Liam’s hand and a kiss to the back of his neck. 

Aw, Louis thinks he can distract him with shagging and get out of packing. Liam knows that trick. He’s not falling for it. Nope. Just because Lou’s being all sweet. 

‘Did you hear from LA?’ Liam asks. Not that he’s distracting Louis with logistics, which are his secret favourite. 

‘The movers cleared my old place out and dumped it in a corner of the new house. I think we’ve filled a whole single room of it,’ Louis responds, voice laden. 

‘We could have bought new,’ Liam replies. He sticks his paired socks in a row along the bottom between the metal bars of the case so they take up less room. Louis picks up a canvas bag full of t-shirts back from the laundry service and turns it upside down, then squishes it into a cloth mountain like it’s dough. 

Except for the two tshirts he throws at Liam across the bed. ‘Hush your mouth, a very silly person built all of that for me.’

Liam grins as he folds the t-shirts he’s caught. Louis holds out a hand. Liam shakes his head and hugs the tshirts close, one eye on the tipping mountain of crumpled clothes already in Lou’s case. ‘I like these ones. I’m folding them. They can go in mine.’ 

‘You’re horrible and I don’t like you,’ Louis says promptly as Liam folds the shirts and starts the next layer in his case. ‘What’s so special about plain blue tshirts?’

Louis flings more of his clothes at Liam until the floor on his side of the room is clear. Liam doesn’t want him to have any more ammunition, so he folds whatever he can catch and smacks Louis’s hand away when it gets near the neat suitcase, except it doesn’t seem like he’s trying _very_ hard to get to the folded clothes. 

‘Where’s the script?’ Liam shouts when Lou disappears into the bathroom to sort out his many hair products, which have a bag of their own, of course. 

‘It’s not a script, it’s a bunch of maps with tall rocky things circled in red pen and a murder mystery party pack of character profiles! This is the weirdest shoot we’ve ever done, have I mentioned that?’ Louis shouts back. ‘It’s with the flight times and dates in my satchel, you numpty.’ 

‘Mr Payne with the guide book,’ Liam says under his breath. ‘In the bedroom.’ He lifts the guide book and slots it into the bit of the suitcase made for such things, then takes it back out. He wants to look at it on the first plane. 

‘Yeah, about that - we’re going free-running in the middle of nowhere for fun and cameras, when are we going to use a Lonely Planet?’ Louis sticks his head out of the bathroom and grins. ‘Liam Payne, are we going to get to do tacky tourist things on the weekend?’ 

Liam blushes. He knows how much Louis loves the tacky tourist bits as well as the adventure. Anything for a gift shop, honestly. Lady Lou is going to get sick of tiny soft toys sent from obscure museums across the world, she really is. ‘It was going to be a surprise. Honest.’ 

That’s enough for Louis, who sits his hair bag down and yells, tackling Liam to the bed and wrapping his legs around him and kissing him soundly. 

‘You’re a fucking wonder, you are,’ Louis says with his nose pressed against Liam’s.

‘Don’t forget to pack the tea, you’ll be bloody horrible if you don’t-’ Liam manages before Louis kisses him again. 

 

Fin.  
The End.  
End Credits Roll.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But wait, a post credits scene:

**_0\. oh don’t you put me on the backburner_ **

Zayn never thought he’d be here. After graduating he’s felt supremely unlucky and doesn’t even know why he ever chose drama when all he gets are the same bit roles. They say leading men don’t look like him. Well, they don’t say it, but Zayn isn’t thick, he can tell from the look in most casting director’s eyes when they read his name. 

He’s got a feeling this one won’t be any different. 

But Ant keeps pushing him out the door of the tattoo shop he’s been working part time in since was eighteen to auditions threatening to call his mum to pull him out of bed and drive him like he’s some sixteen year old on X-Factor. He’s not. That particular dream didn’t pan out either. And he’d meant to go on to just be another old boring English teacher with too many tattoos, but he liked the plays so much. He wanted to be Othello, he wanted to be MacBeth, he wanted to be Benedict, and Tybalt because he always thought Romeo was a bit of ponce. He wanted to be Bottom and Oberon and even Puck. He wanted to be Stoppard’s Rosencrantz or Guildenstern. He wanted Septimus Hodge. He loved being on a stage and when his mum and dad told him they would help up with the drama school it’d been a dream. 

And it had been one. A great one and then he graduated and nobody looks at him like a leading man anymore.

Bitter wake up that way, to be honest. Bitter and tiring. Zayn’s giving himself one more year to make it because he can’t keep asking his parents for extra cash every six months when they jobs haven’t been coming in, the playhouse is closed, and taking extra shifts at the pub barely cover rent. He loves his parents and he loves how much they support him, but they still have Safaa and Waliyha to look after. Zayn can’t be constantly asking for help just because he knows they’ll move heaven and hell to give it to him. 

So one more year. That’s all he’s giving himself. One more year for this pipe dream and then he’ll go back to the real world where not every kid gets everything he wants. 

Looking down at his watch, he sighs. He’s got about ten more minutes until his call time. Zayn rummages in his jacket pocket for his tobacco and rolling paper. There’s a couple people hanging about. A few other hopeful, Zayn guesses. 

He catches the eye of one the younger blokes. A blond lad with who’s got a snapback low on his head, dressed only in a thin t-shirt that hang on his frame. Zayn nods to him. 

The guy blinks and nods back. 

‘Fucking freezing, innit?’

‘Yeah… yeah.’ He doesn’t say anything else as he stares at Zayn. Zayn almost wants to tell him to fuck off, but he’s not really bothered it. Much. It’s odd though.

Zayn shakes his head and focuses on rolling his cigarette -- he like the process off it. Fold the paper into a vee, sprinkle the tobacco in, roll it so it’s a perfect thin cylinder, and viola. It’s a lovely, perfect, cancer stick. Sometimes he thinks he prefers the systematic habit of rolling his cigs and spliffs more than the smoking. Sometimes, he thinks, smirking and brings the cigarette to his lips. He stuffs his tobacco and papers back in his pockets and then curses because he can’t find his lighter. Of course he can’t find his lighter. He pats down his jacket and jeans and doesn’t feel the familiar shape of the too old Zippo in his pockets. 

Sighing he turns to the blond bloke. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have a light, mate?”

‘Are you here for the audition?”

And that’s not an answer to his question but Zayn automatically answers it. 

‘Yeah, probably won’t get it though. I never do,’ he says just as he remembers where he stuffed his lighter for safe keeping and reaches down to his boots. Why he does this he never knows. Danny says it’s clever, but Zayn never remembers when he does it.

For some reason this make the bloke start laughing and Zayn wonders what the hell is happening and if he should walk away. 

‘Mate, you just did.’

Zayn blinks.

‘What?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and this is it, donzo with prequel! Now for [the](http://jokesonus.tumblr.com/post/87604025528/title-about-the-things-that-we-could-be-rating-r) [treats](http://jokesonus.tumblr.com/post/87604192778/some-of-the-movie-posters-of-the-fake-movies). ;)


End file.
